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THE HUMOUE OF THE SCOT 



Printed by R. &' R. Clark 

•FOR 

DAVID DOUGLAS, EDINBURGH 

LONDON . . SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT AND CO., LIM. 

CAMBRIDGE . . MACMILLAN AND BOWES 
GLASGOW . . JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS 



,-7 



THE 

HUMOUK OF THE SCOT 

'NEATH NOETHEEN LIGHTS AND 
SOUTHEEN CEOSS 



BY 

JAMES INGLIS 

'maoei,' 

AUTHOR OF 'OOR AIN FOLK,' ' SPORT AND WORK ON THE NEPAUL FRONTIER, 

'TIRHOOT RHYMESj' 'our AUSTRALIAN COUSINS,' ' OUR NEW ZEALAND 

COUSINS,' 'tent LIFE IN TIGER LAND,' ETC. ETC. ETC. 



Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's, 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede ye, tent it ; 
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes, 

An' faith he'll prent it ! 



EDINBUEGH 

DAVID DOUGLAS, 10 CASTLE STEEET 

1894 

All rights reserved ' 



<6 



& 



i^^^^v 






O^'-X^ 



. * • ■ *1 



6 S '02 



DEDICATION 

I dedicate this hook to my dear Aunt Margaret, 

Mrs. David Inglis, of Murlingden, Brechin, 

the sole surviving representative amongst my relatives of that older 
generation about which most of these random recollections and 
jottings have been written. 



PEEFACE 

In collecting the materials for a former book, Oor Ain 
Folk, I noted down from time to time many Scotch 
stories, which, although scarcely perhaps applicable to 
the more restricted scope and personal character of that 
volume, were yet, in my opinion, worthy of publication 
in some permanent record, as bearing on the always 
interesting story of the evolution and grovvth of any 
marked type of national character. Beyond a doubt the 
Scottish character is one of the most marked, yet most 
piquant and interesting, in the wide range of complex 
diversities that make up the sum total of our common 
humanity. It is trite, but true, that the study of indi- 
vidual character, and how that merges into the growth 
of national character, has always had a deep human 
interest, not only to the ordinary rank and file, but 
certainly to every thoughtful and observant man. Now 
in the illustrations which are afforded by current anec- 
dotes, by individual peculiarities, by odd customs, by 
phases of thought or habit, even when these are acci- 
dental and transitory, it is recognised that in these the 
historian, the politician, the philosopher, and the moralist, 



viii THE HUMOUR OF THE SCOT 

may oft find his richest material, so that even the mere 
story-teller and gossip-monger, the retailer of anecdote 
received at second-hand, finds his appropriate place — 
humble, yet, perchance, more useful than even he himself 
may realise — in the great temple of human history, the 
vast, complicated fabric of man's development and destiny. 
Well, I pretend to no higher role than that. In this volume 
I do not put forward any claim to originality — I am 
but a humble scribe; and I am led into this train of 
thought by the reception accorded in the Press to the 
simple record of family life, which, under the homely 
title above alluded to, jumped at once into a popularity 
which was to me as grateful as it was unexpected. Nor 
has the appreciation been confined to my own country- 
men. Commendations of the most cordial and kindly 
nature have come to me from all quarters ; and I have 
been asked to lose no time in furnishing to apparently 
troops of expectant readers, my promised further budget 
of Scottish story and reminiscence. This let me try to 
do in my own unpretentious wslj. Now that suggests 
an illustration. 

My father, the old minister, was a good musician and 
a clever fiddler, and he was waited on by a humble 
'wricht' one day with a home-made violin, which he 
wished the minister to try. It was certainly a unique 
instrument — a rare fiddle, in fact, but scarcely a Stradi- 
varius. The complacent builder was asked, referring to 
the material : — 



PREFACE ix 

' An' hoo did ye mak' it, Davie 1 ' 

'Oh, minister,' responded the beaming artist, 'I 
made it a' oot o' my ain heid.' 

'Ay, Davie,' was the dry rejoinder, 'an' I've nae 
doot there's eneuch wid left, tae mak' anither.' 

On another occasion my father had been announced 
to preach in the Masonic Lodge at Tarfside, up in 
Glenesk. Nearing the building, he met the custodian, 
old Peter Duncan, and asked : — 

' Are there mony f owk come, Peter ? ' 

' Oo ay,' said Peter, ' there's a gey pucklie ; but I'm 
thinkin' there'll be nae fun till ye gang in an' begin.' 

And now for the application. 

I found, as I have said, that after writing Oor Ain 
Folk I had enough material left in my head for another 
book; so in the humble hope that the gentle reader 
may find the present volume not altogether ' wooden,' 
but possessed of some interest and not a little harmless 
* fun,' and under the encouragement of former leniency 
and kindness, let us, acting on Peter's hint, without 
further preface, just ' Gang in and begin.' 

JAS. INGLIS. 

MuELiNGDEN, Beechin, August 1894. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTEE I 

Introduction — Scottish Humour, and the 
Formation of the National Character 

What' the early records tell — 'The rugged Scot' of early times — 
The clan era merges into the national — The Reformation : its 
material asj)ect — The pretensions of the Presbyter — Influence 
on the national character of the new repressive regime — 
Illustration : the Aberdeen waiter — The origin of ' pawkiness ' 
— Illustrations : the two drovers — A plethora of pease brose — 
Recipe for acquiring the English tongue — 'Paisley Tarn' an' 
cauld watter — An eSectual prayer — An English description 
of a Scotch dish — The auld wifie's pet pig — Grumblin' Jessie 
— Quaint definitions — ' Needin' a rest' — Effiects of 'Gowf — 
The Corstorphine wheelwright . . . Pages 1-18 



CHAPTER II 

Biblical and Theological 

The sense of individuality peculiarly Scottish — World-wide influ- 
ence of Scottish humour — Power of laughter — The Scottish 
humourist in Australia — In an Indian camp — In the haunts of 
commerce — ' Blessed gift of humour ' — Need for delicate 
treatment in many typical cases referring to matters theo- 
logical — The tombs of David and Solomon — Satan ' on the 



xii THE HUMOUR OF THE SCOT 

chain' — Adam's state of innocence — The 'klatt' in Eden — 
A christenin' story — An Aberdeen estimate of the conduct of 
Joseph's brethren — A boy's idea of ' being born again ' — An 
old evangelist on Enoch — The deacon's prayer — An old maid's 
estimate of Solomon — Prayer of a W.S. — The colonial 
minister's difficulties — Inestimable value of the Bible Class 
and Bible teaching — Catechetical troubles — ' Pearls before 
swine' — The dogma of 'total depravity' — How 'the Fall' 
might have been avoided— Kirsty's idea of 'the Prodigal 
Son ' Pages 19-39 



CHAPTER III 

Minister and Manse 

Their influence on the people — The Presbytery dinner — Critical 
attitude towards the minister — John's criticism of the new 
minister — A Montrose hearer — The sick fisherman — A punning 
text — Caustic advice — Salient features of Presbyterianism : 
its merits and drawbacks — Belief in democracy — Free speech 
— Instances of pulpit criticism — Droll descriptions of ministers 
— Wholesale plagiarism — An'ra the critic — Dr. Aird's story — 
Hope even for a bishop — Reluctant emotion — A dream and 
the interpretation thereof 40-54 



CHAPTER IV 

Minister and People 

Feudal monopolists — The Scottish Universities — The training for 
manse life — Dry, clerical humour — The Apostle of the High- 
lands performs a queer christening — The minister of Birse on 
snuff-taking — Anecdotes of 'Wattie Dunlop' — Deducing a 
doctrine — Auld Jenny on preaching — A dubious compliment 
— Unemotional hearers — The elder's presentation speech — A 
lapsus linguce — Dr. Eadie on the Speerit — Patrick Robertson's 
'convairt' — Dunkie Demster's enemy — Pawky clerical puns 
— An electioneering prayer -^ Dr. Lindsay Alexander's 
beadle 55-70 



CONTENTS xiii 

CHAPTEE V 

Precentors and Psalmody 

A defiant precentor — The old style of psalmody — A precentor's 
paradox — A parody of the old metre — Examples of the old, 
wooden, halting measure — A saintly minister's defence of the 
old style — The old conservatism — Examples — Dr. Roxburgh's 
story — A competitive breakdown — Rural high notes — Question- 
able punctuation — A self-possessed cantor — 'The Stickit Pre- 
centor' — A ludicrous paraphrase — Auld ChairlieBroon — Stories 
from the Brechin Advertiser — The other side of the shield — 
Opinions of Burns and Sir Walter Scott . Pages 71-86 



CHAPTER VI 

KiRKYAiRDS, Sextons, and Burials 

The old-time neglect — Modern changes — Slack trade for the sexton 
— ' Little daein' i' the yaird ' — Wounded vanity — ' A sair time ' 
— A philosophic widower — 'The cold grave' — A phlegmatic 
pitman — 'Beelzebub's bosom' — The Inverarity grave-digger — 
The sexton's grievance — ' Dangerous to meddle wi' the kirk ' 
— The old-time callousness — 'A sair hoast' — 'Thae Kidds' — 
A too rapid hearse — ' Steady wark ' — ' A respeckfu' distance ' 
— A dry retort — A ' popular ' functionary — A story from 
Punch — Dr. Kidd and his beadle — The rival bells and 
betherals 87-105 

CHAPTER VH 

Funeral Customs, Epitaphs, etc. 

Old-time insanitary conditions— Tribute to the modern doctor — 
Effect of a *bit poutherie' — Jeddart physic — The hearse an 
innovation — A Badenoch funeral — Glenesk customs — Old 
Tirly — ' Sandie Drew o' the Yoker ' — Kerridge exercise — The 



xiv THE HUMOUR OF THE SCOT 

death-shave — Callousness under bereavement — A grim mourner 
— 'Nae complaint' — A toast — A lingering patient — Unique 
use for a hearse — Sir Alfred Robert's story — ' Little fash aboot 
risin' ' — Stolid mourners — The Tain funeral — ' Taking her at 
her word ' — A miserly widower — A Scotch ' bull ' — ' A plagueit 
wumman ' — ISTo wives in stock — Epitaphs — ' A healthy place, 
Sorn' — My gi-andfather's will — Extracts . Pages 106-136 



CHAPTER VIII 

EUSTICITY OF THE OlDEN TiME 

Modern progress and old-time customs : a contrast — 'The change- 
less East ' : a retrospect — The law of change — One of the old 
school — The old-time shell-fish sort of existence — Instances — 
The old farmer and the silver spoon — 'Clean beats Fittie' — 
' A naiteral deith ' — A luxurious dinner — The pawky weaver 
— Peter's rat case — 'No a maisterpiece ' — 'The wonnerfu' works 
o' natur' ' — Poverty of expression — The pawky shepherd and 
the barber 137-151 



CHAPTER IX 

EusTiciTY OF THE Olden Time {continued) 

The two ploughmen at Alloa — A simple magistrate — The laird and 
his henchman Donald — Primitive dentistry — A rustic dancing- 
lesson — Dancie Fettes — A Paisley apologist — A testy farmer 
to his dog — The chief engineer's present — The D.D. and the 
cuddy 152-163 



, CHAPTER X 

Old-fashioned Servants and Service 

The kindly relationships of the old time — A tactless guest in Glenesk 
— Modern precocity — John Macrae— The old Highland keeper 
— Outspoken criticism — Robbie and the railway — Sandie and 



CONTENTS XV 

the French bonne — A pawky butler — Old Andrew's caution 
about the cabs — A matter-of-fact Abigail — Deeside candour — 
One from the Antipodes — 'Jock and the reid herrin" — A 
quaint dejfinition — Personal good fortune with servants — 
Length of service and fidelity — Illustrations — Old George the 
gardener — Lessons to be learned from such humble records 

Pages 164-182 



CHAPTER XI 

Distinctive Features of Scottish Humour 

Appeal to congenial spirits — A blunt invitation — The pawky black- 
smith — A windy day indeed — Auld Willie Millar and the 
minister — A staggerer for the sexton — Pity for the deil — Chay 
Black the poacher — Instances of dry, pawky retorts — A grim 
humourist — Deeside drollery — The Glenesk storekeeper — A 
caustic rebuke — Literal accuracy — A spirited souter — A dis- 
concerted lecturer — An old hand ' on the road ' — A golf 
experience — A banker's pun — Montrosian ready. wit — A pro- 
vost's after-dinner eulogium — His presentation speech — Public 
spirit of the older generation — An elder's eloquence 183-200 



CHAPTEE Xn 

Oddities op Speech and old-time Bluntness 

Fondness for ' lang-nebbit ' words — A queer illness — How a Scotch 
lady acquired French — How the minister learned foreign 
languages — A clerkish mistake — A pulpit intimation — Queer 
phrases among the fisher folk — Strange place for a ' Dissenter ' 
— The ' Calvinistic battery ' — Further examples — Instances of 
pithy Scotch — Deeside dialect — How Pharaoh died — Grades 
in the fish -hawking business — The miller of Ashbogle — An 
anecdote of the old minister — A horse-dealer's estimate of his 
own profession — A wife's blunt injunction — How he knew his 
sweetheart's name — Peter Ruff the coachdriver — Tam Dick of 
Dunedin — ' Speerits ' an aid to digestion . . 201-218 



xvi THE HUMOUR OF THE SCOT 

CHAPTEE XIII 

Whisky Stories 

Grouse shooting : its delights and surroundings — A disquisition on 
whisky — ' Ko the whisky, but the Here's t'ye ! ' — The true 
path to lasting reform — Jimmy Dewar the toper — The two 
farmers and their toasts — Two Penang skippers of a like order 
— 'Nae great judge o' thae soor kinds' — A farmer's estimate 
of champagne — Peter's modest confession — A lax teetotaller 
— Why the slow boat was preferred — The twa gills — A 
deceptive measure — A natural gill-stoup — A drinker's heaven 
— A cautious reason for sobriety — A temperance testimony — 
A drouthy Dundee man's dream — A dry commentary — The 
minister rebuked — The humours of whisky — 'No sma' dry 
— A trick of the yill trade — A professional estimate — Janet and 
the minister — Perfect content "... Pages 219-241 

CHAPTER XIY 

Scottish Complacency 

The national conceit — Shakespeare as a Scotsman — The complacent 
meal-man — The self-satisfied captain — 'A mairchant' on good 
terms with himself — Professional complacency — A near shot — 
Sir ;Kobert Hamilton's story — A novel reason for church 
attendance — 'The salt of the earth' — 'As ithers see us' — 
Awful ultimate fate of a Scotsman — The colonial version 

242-256 

CHAPTEE XV 

Eailways and Modern Progress 

The introduction of steam to an indigo factory — The first sight of 
a locomotive — Instances — The old sheep-farmer's experience 
— The porter's correction — Legs versus locomotive — Circum- 
venting the ticket-collector — A pawky stationmaster — 'Ower 
big for his place ' 257-267 



CONTENTS xvii 

CHAPTEE XVI 

Naiterals 

Modern methods in treatment of the insane — Danger of overdoing 
even philanthropy — The old-time village life — 'Fink' o' the 
Gun ' — Too literal an answer to prayer — ' Jock Brodie ' — 
* Singin' Willie ' — ' Jock Heral' '^' Gude, gude wirds ' — Stories 
of 'The Laird' — 'Johnnie Maisterton' — A queer old parish 
minister and some stories about him — A cautious Scot — A tight 
place for Abraham — Rustic simplicity . Pages 268-281 

CHAPTER XVII 

Stories of Highlanders 

The Celtic temperament — Difficulties of the English tongue to the 
Gael — Examples of Gaelic - English — 'News from Tulloch' — 
An Australian illustration — Two Highland hotel anecdotes — 
The Skye barometer — Old John M'Leod and the Oban porter 
— Distinguished company — The first recorded eviction — A 7nal 
de mer experience — A Highland grace, from Blackwood — 
Curious marriage customs 282-293 

CHAPTER XYHI 

The Scot Abroad 

Pride of country — Scottish generosity — The Struan Highlander — 
A Sydney matron's experience — An Antipodean beadle — A 
typical Scot in Calcutta — Characteristic stories about him — 
A close-fisted Scot in Melbourne — A Sydney alderman — Two 
new-chum Scots in Sydney — A disillusioned grazier — A robber 
despoiled — 'Walkin' on the Sawbath' — 'Shooin' the cat' — 
Angling in New Zealand — A pawky Scot in the East — An 
engineer's estimate of classic music . . . 294-310 

CHAPTER XIX 

Summary and Conclusion 311-317 



THE HUMOUE OF THE SCOT 



CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCTION — SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 
FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL CHARACTER 

What tlie early records tell — 'The rugged Scot ' of early times — 
The clan era merges into the national — The Reformation : its 
material aspect — The pretensions of the Presbyter — Influence 
on the national character of the new repressive rigime — 
Illustration : the Aberdeen waiter — The origin of ' pawkiness ' 
— Illustrations : the two drovers — A plethora of pease brose — 
Recipe for acquiring the English tongue — 'Paisley Tarn' an' 
cauld watter — An effectual prayer — An English description 
of a Scotch dish — The auld wifie's pet pig — Grumblin' Jessie 
— Quaint definitions — 'ISTeedin' a rest' — Effects of 'gowf — 
The Corstorphine wheelwright. 

It is not necessary nowadays to use much effort in the 
attempt to demonstrate, even to the scofier and the 
cynic, that 'oor ain fowk' possess even more than an 
ordinary share of that faculty which Lowell somewhere 
speaks of as ' the modulating, restraining balance-wheel, 
a sense of humour.' But it is very difficult to define it 
in such lucid terms as will meet general acceptance. 
We have all such different ideals of what constitutes 

B 



2 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

it. It is such a Protean and elusive thing, that mere 
set, formal phrases, seem all too rigid and inelastic to 
properly describe it. Of all the attempts to elaborately 
analyse or dissect this much -spoken -of thing, Scottish 
humour, I have seen no two alike, and not one which 
seems to me to do complete justice to the theme. I do 
not certainly intend to attempt a task which has been 
handled by masters, with whom I do not presume to 
compare myself; but if I can make some friendly 
doubter even dimly discern that there is indeed a fund 
of genuine undoubted humour in the Scottish nature, I 
feel that I will best achieve a success by simply giving 
my gathered illustrations, my jottings here and there — 
contributions from many sources, noted down under 
many a strange circumstance of time and place — and 
let these speak for themselves. If after reading my 
budget any one is still determined to maintain that the 
Scotch have no humour, then I opine it can only be from 
some strange lack in the story-teller, and not the want 
of humour in the stories themselves. 

A word or two of exposition on the causes that led 
to the formation of the peculiar Scottish character 
might not be out of place, as these afford a clue to the 
wholly unique manifestations of typical Scottish humour 
which most writers on the subject love to cite. One 
writer has said that Scottish humour plays like an 
electric current between the two opposite poles of 
'releegion and whusky.' This is but another way of 
saying that the national character exhibits the sudden 
alternations between a deep, abiding, ever - recurring 
tendency to metaphysics, and the rebound to hilarious 
relaxation. 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL CHARACTER 3 

But if we think of the formative influences at work 
through the long procession of centuries of national 
growth, we cease to wonder, and can, I think, trace 
cause and effect clearly and reasonably. 

The history of the people is one of incessant struggle. 
First with nature. The climate always has been 
rigorous : the natural configuration of the country 
was wild and rugged, the soil by no means fertile; 
the surrounding seas treacherous and stormy. There 
are few broad rivers. The early records tell of fierce 
fights with wolves and wild beasts ; of battles with no 
less wild and aggressive foreign invaders. There were 
imperfect means of communication; no real corporate 
life ; an utter absence of national solidarity. What 
few towns there were, were for the most part under the 
dominance of foreign ideas and learning. Next, the 
whole country became a prey to faction : inter-tribal 
feuds, cruel onslaughts, and fierce reprisals raged. 
Husbandry and all the peaceful arts were consequently 
neglected. The clansman's hand was ready to grasp 
stilt of plough, or handle of claymore, as quickly vary- 
ing emergencies dictated. During the ' lang fore nichts ' 
in the rude baronial castles or in the squalid huts of 
the peasantry, there were few intellectual resources. 
There were practically no books. Art was not yet 
born. The fare was scanty as the manners were un- 
couth. The atmosphere of tribal estrangement — of 
mutual distrust, of incessant vigilance, of reckless 
aggression and hereditary hate — as well as the natural 
environment of morass and forest, swift stream and 
' craggy fell/ the savage grandeur of rocky pass, or the 
trackless loneliness of upland moor, all acted on the 



4 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

character of the people ; and so ' the rugged Scot ' grew 
up, stern, suspicious, hardy, self-contained, undemon- 
strative. In times of peace, slow, meditative, poetic, 
superstitious, dreamily speculative; in war or sudden 
emergency, quick to resent an injury, ready to plan, 
swift to execute, cruel, dogged, determined, hard to 
conquer, resourceful, resolute and daring in action, im- 
placable in his revenge. 

In fact the Scot of the ancient records was more or 
less of a barbarian : wild and untamed, like the winds 
that whistled round his rugged mountains; cruel and 
unbridled as the treacherous seas which hissed and beat 
upon the beetling cliffs that confront the surges of the 
wintry wild Atlantic. 

Coming down to only a few short centuries ago, we 
find scenes of lawlessness, rapine, and bloodshed, daily 
occurrences in the very metropolis itself. Society was 
not homogeneous ; the nation had not yet been crystal- 
lised. There was no middle class such as we know now. 
True, there were powerful guilds in the towns, but these 
as a rule maintained an attitude of watchful suspicion, 
and armed truce against the powerful barons and nobles 
with their hordes of ruthless retainers. The influence of 
the laird or chief in rural parts was paramount. Fealty 
to the chief or clan was the one supreme virtue. The 
bond of kinship or clanship was, however, becoming a 
living political as well as a natural force. A community 
of blood, traditions, interests, cemented the various units 
of the clan together ; and gradually by alliances, inter- 
marriages, and other softening, consolidating, and elevat- 
ing influences, this feeling of clannishness from being 
tribal, grew till it merged into the national, and now 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL GHABACTEB 5 

there is perhaps no more intense national spirit under 
heaven, than that which is the common bond and 
heritage of 'brither Scots.' 

It was a long road to travel though, and the study is 
interesting ; but I can only dash in the main outlines in 
this necessarily hurried fashion. 

When the feudal power began to wane ; w^hen military 
tenures and service were no longer the rule ; when the 
cities and towns with their guilds began to wrest 
privilege after privilege, and charter after charter, from 
the turbulent nobility ; when one central authority 
began to put down inter-tribal strife with the strong 
hand of paramount law ; — then the currents of national 
life began to move in the moral and spiritual domains of 
the national mind. 

The ancient historic Church of Eome had got a good 
grip on the Scottish collar; but its methods of sub- 
jugation and domination had been too nearly allied to 
the rough-and-ready methods of baron and earl and 
chief. And so in the growing spirit of independence, 
in the strengthening of the bonds of corporate action, in 
the awakening of the critical and questioning faculties 
of the people, it was inevitable that the revulsion and 
the protest should come. 

From very authentic sources we are able to see that 
the mere material and mechanical aspect of the Eeforma- 
tion, quite apart altogether from the undoubtedly higher, 
holier, and purer phases of the question, must have 
exerted a by no means idle influence on the ultimate 
issue. What I mean is this : the tax of raising the 
enormous revenues of the old Eoman faith, of keeping 
up the pomp and pageantry of the ritual and hierarchy 



6 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

alone, must have been a terrific drain on the naturally- 
poor resources of such a people and such a country. So 
the principles of the Eeformation must have commended 
themselves to the stern, hard, practical, and frugal 
nature of the Scot. 

Doubtless there were other causes at work, for the 
movement was a complex one. The greed of the 
nobles for the church lands, for instance, was a potent 
factor in overturning the sacerdotal supremacy, but I 
cannot help thinking, that the people groaned under the 
burden of oppressive exactions in the name of the 
Church, which must have sorely tried their limited 
resources. 

They had seen so much of the luxury, the arrogance, 
the licentiousness and greed, of abbot and prior, and 
prelate and priest, that naturally when, after heroic 
efforts, they succeeded in freeing themselves from what 
had come to be looked on as an incubus, a rebound 
to the other extreme was naturally to be looked for. 

Hence the studied simplicity, the almost painful 
bareness of the succeeding ritual of ultra - Presby- 
terianism. Hence that harsh pragmatic Puritanism, 
that somewhat gloomy Calvinistic estimate of life and 
duty, that cast-iron pessimistic theology which has cast 
such a shadow over some of the finer attributes of the 
national character. But in all fairness let it be noted, 
too, what is seldom sufficiently pointed out, that Calvinism 
as commonly railed at, is not the philosophy or theology 
of John Calvin himself — a fine heroic soul he ! — but 
the metaphysical refinements and accretions of the seven- 
teenth century theology, which is but a vile travesty of 
the system of Calvin. When I speak of Calvinism 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL GHARAGTER 7 

therefore, I mean the adulterated and not the pure, the 
spurious and not the real original system of John 
Calvin. 

Bigotry and intolerance always accompany extreme 
views either in religion or politics, and the history of 
' cor ain fowk,' alas ! shows much of both. 

The Presbyter, in some respects, tried to assume a 
power almost as arrogant and irresponsible as that of 
the priest, over the spirits of his flock ; but there were 
certain notable differences. For instance, the Presby- 
terian clergy fully recognised the value of free and 
popular education. All honour to John Knox for that 
imperishable boon ! They stoutly upheld the inalienable 
and inestimable right of private judgment; the liberty 
of the individual conscience; the right to search the 
Scriptures for oneself. They allied themselves, too, 
with the people in all the popular movements for more 
freedom. They battled nobly and well for popular 
rights ; and with all their faults, mistakes, and failings, 
Scotland will never cease to cherish with loving 
gratitude the memory of the sturdy heroes of the 
Eeformation. 

But what has this to do with Scottish humour ? the 
impatient reader may ask. Well, just this. The conflict 
was so momentous, the change was so thorough, the 
swing of the pendulum was so wildly to an opposite 
extreme, that the national character was doomed to feel 
the depressing influence of the somewhat distorted and 
soured regime, which now began to take the place of the 
old laxity, the easy formalism, and the spiritual enslave- 
ment which had obtained under the former priestly 
system. Under the repressive rigour of Calvinism and 



8 SCOTTISH HUMOUE, AND THE 

the Puritan movement all expression of natural joyous 
feeling was sternly subjected to restraint. It was looked 
on as sinful to even betray natural innocent emotion at 
all of any kind. The Sabbath, especially, from being ' a 
delight ' became ' a weariness.' The ordinances of public 
worship appealed only to the conscience and intellect, 
and left the emotions and affections pretty well out of 
the computation altogether. All this of course begat a 
smug Pharisaism, an unctuous hypocrisy, on the part of 
many ; and a hard rigour, a pragmatic harshness of judg- 
ment, on the part of others. In fact the standards of duty, 
of obligation, of everyday action, were suddenly changed. 
So it was that the free, unrestrained exuberance of youth- 
ful feeling was scowled down by the ' unco guid,' and a 
settled standard of gloomy self-restraint became the 
common attribute of the common people. To dance, or 
sing, or laugh heartily, was heinous in a common person ; 
but for a minister or an office-bearer to dance, or play 
the fiddle, for example, was as the seven deadly and un- 
forgivable sins rolled into one. 

Doubtless the sour, depressing shadow is lifting, but 
the feeling still lingers. For instance, this illustration 
may for the moment suffice. It happened in Aberdeen. 
My friend Francis Murray and myself, two returned 
indigo-planters, who after some twelve years in India 
had desired to look on the old land again, happened to 
be, for the time, quartered in one of the leading hotels 
in the Granite City. It was a calm, quiet Sunday 
morning, sunny and warm. Murray was coming 
downstairs, not thinking of the day particularly, and 
he was whustlin'. Only fancy ! what unpardonable 
levity! A white-haired old waiter of the rigid, 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL OHABAGTEB 9 

inflexible, granite-featured, emotionless type, happened 
to be coming up the stair, bearing a tray in his hands. 
At the ungodly sounds of mirth and levity he paused, 
and his face assumed the rigidity of a Gorgon's. He 
literally glared at the Sabbath desecrator, and in tones 
of dreadful severity asked if he ' didna ken that this was 
the Sawbath.' Murray was amused. I fear it must be 
recorded he was even in a scoffing mood. At any rate 
he not only continued to whistle, with even greater 
animation, but he began to execute a sort of solo nautch 
or ^as seul on the stairs. The old man perceiving this 
unregenerate attitude, slowly took up his tray, which he 
had laid down in a recess while administering his rebuke, 
and then with a withering look, in which contempt quite 
overcame any lingering pity, he said, in words that ciit 
like a whip-lash : ' Eh, man ! ye're no funny ; ye're jist 
wicked ! ' 

Poor Murray collapsed, and no doubt he deserved the 
rebuke ; but let us, just for one moment longer, resume 
our argument and try to work it out. 

Of course it was not in the nature of things that the 
free, innocent play of feeling and emotion could be 
absolutely and entirely stifled, but under the new 
standards, and in obedience to the new judgments, it 
could not fail to manifest itself differently than it was 
wont to do. 

So it begot, as it seems to me, that peculiar sly, 
pawky, half -apologetic, half-shamefaced enjoyment of a 
joke, which is so truly characteristic of most ebullitions 
and illustrations of purely Scottish humour : that 
restrained attitude of mind, which deals in hint and 
innuendo — which ofttimes only places half an incident or 



10 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

some salient point before you, and leaves the rest to be 
inferred — which seeks to give even the broadly ludicrous 
a solemn, semi-sacred twist, and which is responsible for 
making Scottish jokes so often seem laboured, ponderous, 
and indeed quite incomprehensible to the bewildered and 
uninitiated outsider. 

Bearing this then in mind, let us now proceed to enjoy 
with what appetite we may, a few of the contents of my 
well-filled wallet, illustrative of the fun and humour of 
' oor ain fowk' ; and if the gentle reader come across here 
and there ' a chestnut ' of the wormy kind, let him eschew 
it and crack the next. Let me instance, first, a few taken 
at random, illustrative of various phases of Scottish 
character and humour, before I proceed to classify the 
more salient characteristics under their respective heads 
as I shall attempt to do. 

It is improbable that some at least of my readers may 
not have heard the following illustration of Scottish 
humour, but for the sake of those who have not heard 
it, and because it is so thoroughly characteristic of 
certain of these traditional phases of Caledonian character 
which we have just been considering, I make no further 
apology for reproducing it here. 

Sceiie — Banks of Loch Katrine. Jock and Wullie, two 
cattle-dealers, muffled in their plaids and breasting the 
sharp breeze, walking alongside the Loch. Wullie log.: 
' Ay ! Jock, an' so ye've sell't yer coo, I'm hearin'.' 

' Ou ay ! ' 

' Imphm, an' hoo muckle did ye get for her ? ' 

' Oh, I did fairly weel — I got twal' pounds ! ' 

' Twal' pounds ! ' ejaculated Wullie (affecting a some- 
what contemptuous depreciation, pretending to be 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL CHARAGTER 11 

indignant, but in realit}^ jealous, and wishing to lower 
Jock's estimate of his own cleverness). ' Twal' pounds 1 
Hech, man, what for did ye no gang tae Lunnon ? for I'm 
hearin' there's a gran' market there, an' ye micht hae 
gotten auchteen pounds for her at least. Jock (testily, 
quite seeing through Wullie's tactics, and resenting the 
implied doubt of his business capacity). ' Ay ! ay ! 
nae doot, nae doot ! Ye're a vera clever chield, Wullie ! 
Ay, awfu' clever ! Losh man ! if I cud only tak' Loch 
Katrine doon to — ahem !' — with a significant downward 
jerk of the thumb — 'I could get saxpence a gless for 
the watter, ay an' more ! ' 

Of the droll, kindly sort of humour which lies more 
in the picture presented and the ideas suggested to the 
mind than in anything said, is the following : A young 
artisan, who had a great liking for feathered pets, had 
married the lassie of his choice, but she, poor girl, had 
been a mill-hand nearly all her life, and had never 
acquired much knowledge of housekeeping ; least of all 
did she understand anything of the art and practice of 
domestic cookery. She had seen her Wullie, however, 
often mixing his pease meal for his birds, and with artless 
induction she thought that what was good for them, 
could not be bad for him ; so the first day Wullie came 
back from the shop, she had a generous bowl of pease 
brose ready for him. Nothing loath, he supped the 
homely but filling fare with relish, and Maggie was 
delighted at the success of her first attempt at catering. 
Wullie having to go early to work, generally took break- 
fast at a stall on the way to the works, and coming home 
the second night, anticipating 'a tasty bit denner,' he 
was again confronted with pease brose ! He judged 



12 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

that possibly Maggie had not got properly ' fixed up ' yet 
in the kitchen, or something had happened to prevent 
her providing a different dish, and so said nothing. But 
on the third day, finding the same delicacy again set 
down, he having now perhaps some faint glimmering of 
the truth, said very good naturedly : ' Od bless me, 
Maggie, dae ye think ye've mairried a mavis ? ' 

The humour of the following is of that kind which is 
not perhaps readily understood by 'the Southron.' 

A servant girl in Edinburgh, who spoke Scotch with 
such a broad accent as at times hardly to be compre- 
hended even by her mistress, who was herself a native 
of Ayrshire, the county of classic Scotch, on being asked 
how she contrived to make herself understood in England 
where she had previously been for some time in service, 
replied : ' Oh, it's easy eneuch to speak Englitch ; ye've 
naething tae dae bit leave oot a' the Es, an' gie ilka 
wird a bit chaw i' the middle.' 

The next is an illustration of the pawky sly sort, 
and, one might almost say of course, is connected with 
the drinking habits of the people, and introduces the 
minister. 

A reverend D.D. had been calling on a 'Paisley 
body ' in his parish — Tam by name, and a very well- 
known character. The Doctor found Tam with ' a broon 
pig ' (an earthenware jar) on the table beside him, and 
observing the vessel, asked Tam what he had in it. 
' Ow it's jist a sowp o' yill ! ' said Tam. ' Ay ! and 
how much may you have taken to-day now ? ' asked the 
minister. ' Oh weel ! ' replied Tam, ' this is jist my 
fourth pint ! ' ' Your fourth pint ? ' quoth his reverence. 
' I don't believe I could drink four pints of water in a 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL CHABACTEB 13 

whole day ! ' ' Na, naither could I ! ' dryly responded 
Tain. (Tarn was evidently of the same mind as another 
worthy who, as an excuse for his bibulous proclivities, 
said : ' He didna like cauld watter in his shoon, far less 
in his stammick.') 

Here is another in which the minister also plays 
a prominent part. He had been paying his visits to 
sundry of his flock, and among others had encountered 
a man who seemed very depressed and despondent, 
and evidently nourishing morose and resentful feel- 
ings against some one. The minister soon elicited 
the information that John had received notice from his 
landlord to quit, and that a certain chimney-sweep 
whom he named was taking the house ' ower his held ' ; 
giving in fact a higher rent. John was very down- 
hearted, for the house suited him, and he had been at 
considerable pains to make it cheerful and comfortable. 
The minister of course sympathised, and administered 
what comfort he could, but laid especial stress on the 
efficacy of prayer as a universal solvent of all difficulties. 
'Jist tak' yer trouble to the throne of grace, John,' 
he said, as he took his leave, ' and no doubt your path 
will be made plain to you ! ' 

Some short time after he again called, and found 
John still in occupancy of the old home, and this time 
looking blithe and whistling like a lintie. The usual 
conversation ensued, and John began to thank the 
minister for having given him such good advice on his 
former visit. The worthy man felt delighted that John 
had proved so amenable, and that his pious admonitions 
had seemingly found so receptive a soil. He expressed 
his satisfaction, and hoped that John had found much 



14 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

peace of mind from the exercise of prayer and that he 
would continue the practice. ' Ou ay ! ' assented John. 
' Man ! Tm rael gled ye gied me yon advice ! ' ' Yes 1 
How so 1 ' said the pleased niinister, eager for details. 
' Eh, man, the sweep's deid ! ' chuckled the unsophisti- 
cated cobbler ; but it is not said how the surprised 
minister took the unexpected announcement of how 
poor John had interpreted the advice he had given him. 

There is ' understandable ' humour to a Scotchman in 
the following English definition of a well-known Highland 
dish. An English sportsman having become belated on the 
moors, found his way to a retired shelling, where he was 
hospitably entertained by the old wifie who there abode. 
Knowing him to be hungry and tired, she made him a 
nice tasty dish of sowens which he enjoyed. Describing 
his experiences afterwards, he said : ' The old woman put 
some dirty water and dust into a pot, but thank good- 
ness it came out a pudding.' Sowens, it may be ex- 
plained, is simply the dust and fine siftings of the meal, 
that is swept up in the mill and sold to poor folk. 

The humour of the following, lies in the utter in- 
congruity of the ideas suggested by the acts and words- 
of the principal character, and the total unconsciousness 
on her part of any approach to the humorous. This is 
a very common kind of Scottish humour, and clearly 
shows if you appreciate it, that you are capable of 
dramatising a situation, so to speak, and of being 
impressed by the humour of it. She was a poor, artless, 
old woman, whose sole treasure, a pet pig, had died. 
She was telling the story of its sufferings, and expatiating 
on its many virtues to a sympathetic visitor. ' Eh, mem, 
but it wis a bonnie wee bit grumphie, an' when it first 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL CHARACTER 15 

took ill I couldna sleep for thinkin' o't, an' as the nicht 
wis cauld, I gaed oot an' rowed it in an' auld flannel 
petticoat o' my ain, deed ay, mem ! But aye it grew 
waur, and keepit gruntin' and pechin', so I gaed oot 
again, an' poured some whisky doon its throat, an' 
that did nae gude ' ; then sobbingly, ' We el, mem, I gaed 
oot again, when it wis near mornin', an' — an' ' (bursting 
into tears, and dropping into a congenial and appropriate 
strain) ' its saul wis wi' its Maker, mem ! ' 

A clever vivacious friend, Miss B of Edinburgh, 

who visited us some time ago in Sydney with her brother, 
told me the following, which is simply delicious, as 
illustrating the captious, self -justifying spirit, of one 
very common type of ' oor ain fowk.' 

Miss B had been visiting in her district, and had 

called on this particularly querulous old pensioner, and 
the following colloquy ensued. 

' Well, Jessie, how are ye the day 1 ' 

'Oh, no vera weel.' And then followed a torrent 

of grumbling complaints, to which Miss B kept up 

an accompaniment of pleasant little speeches and bright 
cheery words of comfort. On leaving, she said : — 

' Well, Jessie, good-bye, an' God bless ye ! ' 

Jessie, somewhat mollified by the bright visit and 
kindly attentions, as well as a nice little gift from her 
cheerful visitor, mumbled out in a grudging, grumbling 
sort of assent : — 

' Oh, He's dune that already ! ' 

'Ay, Jessie,' said Miss B., wishing to impress the 
toothless old crone with a still deeper sense of what 
she owed to the divine beneficence, ' ay, Jessie ! an' 
for many a lang year He has blessed ye ! ' 



16 SCOTTISH HUMOUR, AND THE 

' Ou ay,' at once retorted Jessie, ' but ye ken I 
hinna provokit Him ony ! ' 

What a commentary on the old hidebound theology 
of the ancient time — ' Justification by works ! ' and what 
a speaking instance of the widely prevalent though 
unacknowledged Pharisaism of the present day ! Jessie 
is no solitary type. 

The following is another of these humorous defini- 
tions which it would be difficult to find out of Scotland. 

During the Queen's Jubilee year two old wives were 
discussing the matter, and one evidently did not have a 
very clear understanding of what a jubilee really was. 
The other undertook to enlighten her. ' Ye ken it's 
this w'y ! ' she said. ' Whan ye're marriet for twenty- 
five years, it's yer silver waddin'. An' whan ye're 
marriet for fifty years it's a gowden waddin'. An' syne 
whan yer man dees, that's yer jubilee ! ' 

A still better definition is that given by an old 
wrinkled bodie, to one of her cronies, who had been 
told by the doctor that she was sufiering from sciatica. 
' Skyatticka, 'umman, the doctor said.' 'Fat's that?' 
' Oh, 'deed, Marget, it's jist a new lang-nebbit wird for 
teethache i' the sma' o' the back ! ' 

Of the quaintly satirical, yet without one spice of 
bitterness, take this. A congregation perceiving that 
their minister was a bit ' run down,' and would be all 
the better of a holiday, presented him with a consider- 
able gift of money, arranged for ' pulpit supply ' during 
his absence, and sent him off" to the Continent for a 
holiday. A tourist just back from a ramble through 
the Rhineland, happened to meet rather a prominent 
member of the congregation, and during conversation 



L. 



FORMATION OF THE NATIONAL GHABAGTER 17 

casually mentioned that he had met the minister during 
his tour in Germany. He continued : ' I had heard that 
he was quite broken down, but he was looking very 
well indeed when I met him. He didn't look as if he 
needed a rest.' 'Na!' said the church member, very 
calmly, but with a lurking gleam of suppressed drollery 
in his eye. ' Na ! it wisna him ; it wis the congregation 
that wis needin' a rest.' 

How droll too the unstudied exaggeration of the 
recent convert, but devoted zealot to the seductions 
of golf, that most fascinating of Scottish games. The 
staid, rotund, and eminently respectable sportsman, 
had just driven the ball into an utterly impracticable 
'bunker,' and his fruitless endeavours to extricate it 
had caused him quite to forget his long-acquired pro- 
priety. In fact, he had just indulged in the hitherto 
rare luxury of 'a good round sweir.' Pausing a 
moment, while his pricking conscience accused him, he 
blurted out with most comical contrition and self- 
justification : ' Weel, sirss, I couldna help it ! I began 
gowf a Christian man, but, hech me, it's fair turnin' me 
intil a blaspheemin' sinner ! ' 

Another good specimen of sly humour is that told of 
a certain wheelwright of Corstorphine. He had been 
waited on one day by Dr. Anderson, a quaint old village 
oddity, who ordered him to make a flail or two, and 
casually happened to let fall a remark in an irrelevant 
sort of way, but with a certain significant intonation, 
that ' he had seen some fine ash sticks for flails up in 
the Laird's plantin'.' By and hy in comes the minister, 
Dr. Simpson, who said : ' John, I hear ye are goin' to 
mak' some flails for the doctor, ye had better jist mak' 

C 



18 SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

twa or three pair for me at the same time. I hear 
there's some fine ash sticks jist sootable, up in the 
Laird's plantin'.' 

Presently, John accordingly wends his way up to the 
plantation to cut down the ash sticks, thus significantly 
suggested to him, and while right in the middle of his job, 
who should come on the scene but the Laird himself? 

With some asperity he accosted the interloper. 
' What are ye doin' here, sir ? ' 

' Od, sir,' was the ready answer, ' I'm jist cuttin' 
doon some ash sticks to mak' flails for the meenister an' 
the doctor ! ' 

'But are you not aware, sir, that this is my 
property ? ' 

' Hoot ay ! I ken that weel eneuch ! ' 

'Well, sir, am I to understand that the doctor and 
the minister told you to come here and steal my 
property ? ' 

' Weel no, sir ! But they baith tell't me there wis 
fine sootable ash sticks up here, an' they baith weel 
kent I hed nae wud o' my ain ! ' 



CHAPTEE II 

BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

The sense of individuality peculiarly Scottish. — "World-wide influ- 
ence of Scottish humour — Power of laughter — The Scottish 
humourist in Australia — In an Indian camp — In the haunts of 
commerce — ' Blessed gift of humour ' — Need for delicate 
treatment in many typical cases referring to matters theo- 
logical — The tombs of David and Solomon — Satan ' on the 
chain' — Adam's state of innocence — The 'klatt' in Eden — 
A christenin' story — An Aberdeen estimate of the conduct of 
Joseph's brethren — A boy's idea of ' being born again ' — An 
old evangelist on Enoch — The deacon's prayer — An old maid's 
estimate of Solomon — Prayer of a W. S. — The colonial 
minister's diflEiculties — Inestimable value of the Bible Class 
and Bible teaching — Catechetical troubles — ' Pearls before 
swine' — The dogma of 'total depravity' — How 'the Fall' 
might have been avoided — Kirsty's idea of ' the Prodigal Son. ' 

One of the chief charms of the old Scottish manner 
from a modern point of view, seems to me to consist in 
its fresh, breezy unconventionality, its unstudied direct- 
ness. There was a frank yet not over- weening recognition 
of one's individuality : what has become proverbial, in 
fact, in the oft -quoted saying that the Scotchman's 
favourite prayer is, ' Lord, sen 's a guid conceit o' oorsels.' 
Some unfortunate ' furriners, puir craeters,' imagine 



20 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

that in this there is an implied jibe or reproach. There 
is really no element of reproach in it. It but expresses, 
though possibly in a somewhat exaggerated way, the 
sense of one's individual value. There is a hearty, manly, 
virile sense of the value of one's own opinion, the deep 
significance of one's own inner consciousness, the respon- 
sibility of one's deliberate freewill, which is as far 
removed from fussy, obtrusive self-consciousness, as the 
swagger of the pomatumed recruit is, from the lithe yet 
stately swing of the veteran of a score of campaigns. 
Now, in a smug, sleek, conventional age, when our news- 
papers frame our opinions for us in the main, when 
minds have all to go through the crank-mill of a leaden 
system of cram, when we are girt round and hemmed in 
with a rigid code of priggish prescriptions, extending to 
the very minutiae of the daily round of our duties and 
pleasures alike, these delightful revelations of a difi'erent 
order, when men and women indulged in, nay insisted 
on, their individuality, and were content to be natural, 
appeal to the inherent, the latent Bohemianism that lies, 
I think, at the back of all true love of humour ; and 
they come to us like a whiff of caller air off the heather, 
when we may have been for a time stifling in the 
heavy languorous atmosphere of the hot-house or trim 
conservatory. 

This partly, though not wholly, explains the keen 
pleasure most Scotchmen take in these pawky sayings 
and racy incidents which form the never-ending subject 
of Scottish reminiscence. There are complexities, I 
admit, which go far deeper than I have yet tried to 
indicate — and indeed the delight in a humorous situation 
is not confined to ' oor ain f owk ' by any means — for. 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 21 

thanks to such men as Dean Eamsay, Mr. Barrie, and 
others, Scottish humour has now become a world-wide 
heritage, and forms the spice for many a dish in which 
not one other distinctively Scotch national ingredient 
may form a part. 

It is a common boast that though 'Britannia may 
rule the waves,' our Scottish engineers control the 
motive forces of the world ; and like the pre-eminence 
of our engineers, the sway and influence of Scottish story 
and reminiscence has now become universal. Just let 
me illustrate. 

You hear the hearty burst of ringing laughter from 
the shearers' camp in sunny Australia after the arduous 
day's toil is over, and the gleam of the fragrant gum- 
wood fire lights up the tanned and bearded faces of the 
sinewy shearers. Depend upon it Old Sandy, ' the boss 
of the shed,' has been detailing some droll illustration 
of the quaint humour of his kith and kintra, which 
begins in some such dry, undemonstrative fashion as, ' I 
mind yince, whin I wis a callant,' and gradually works 
up to a culmination of delighted tickling of the risible 
faculties, evidenced by the broadening faces, the widen- 
ing grins, until at length the climax comes, in the exuber- 
ant, unrestrained, full-mouthed Ha ! ha ! ha ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
of health-giving, care-dispelling, devil-defeating, hearty 
laughter. I do believe the devil hates a hearty laugh. 
Humour is not demoniac, and the hypocrite, the cynic, 
the sensualist, the envious man, the cruel and greedy 
man, seldom or ever laughs heartily. Their laugh is 
' from the teeth outwards,' never from the chest. 

Or again, beneath the flooding radiance of the full, 
round moon, showing white as samite against the dark 



22 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

mass of heavy, shaded mango-trees, with yonder tall, 
plumy palm, sentinel-like, guarding the glistening temple 
of white marble that shelters the grim and hideous idol 
with the many arms in the dark, mysterious chamber 
beneath — see the ordered array of snowy tents from 
whence ever and anon come the sounds of jollity and 
ringing mirth. The long day's hunt is over : the tiger 
skins have been pegged out by the dusky camp-followers ; 
the watch fires are twinkling in an irregular circle 
round the camp ; the elephants are swaying their never- 
resting trunks and bodies, and swishing their ever- 
moving tails against their leathery flanks ; while sub- 
dued by distance come the monotonous pulsations of 
the village tom-toms on the drowsy air, or the long- 
drawn, echoing cry of the jackals in the distant jungle, 
or the sighing, mysterious whisper of the swift, treacher- 
ous Indian river, as it seethes along under the crumbling 
sandbanks. The red dust that has been whirling aloft 
all the brazen day, in the furnace-blast of the burning 
March westerly gale, is now settling down on forest leaf 
and jungle grass and village thatch like a thin gray 
pall. The blistering sun made it all day look like a 
blood-red veil. The glamour and the mystery, the 
spell and the witcherj^, of the gorgeous East is around 
and about us ; but we rise superior to it all. The dust 
and glare and heat are forgotten. The punkah may 
wave above us, and the carpet snake and centipede and 
scorpion may crawl around the tent, but we are far 
away, back in the braes of Angus, or amid the heather of 
Strathconan once again ; and out upon the startled air, 
heavy with oriental scents and laden with the clinging 
mists and exhalations of the Eastern night, rises again 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 23 

that free, unrestrained, spontaneous, hearty, ringing 
laugh, dominating every sound else, as the kingly race 
dominates the multitudes that sleep beneath the full- 
orbed moon. What is it 1 Simply this — ' Old Mac ' has 
been telling a Scottish story, and Scottish humour has 
once more been victorious over every disability of 
climate and exile, and every drawback of discomfort, 
danger, and savage environment. 

Again, see that group of gray-bearded men pause i^ 
the middle of the crowded, bustling, city street. But 
now, each was intent on some pressing concern of the 
moment. There was a keen look of calculation in each 
quick-glancing eye. There was decision in each firm 
step, and the alert, shrewd, trained intelligence of each, 
was wide awake to all that was passing in the busy 
haunt of commercial activity amid which they moved. 
They pause at the sight of a merry-featured, genial- 
looking man, with a quaint suggestion of drollery and 
humour lurking in the crow's feet about his eyes, and 
the mobile twitchings of his slightly ruddy nose. As if 
impelled by a common motive, the busy men of com- 
merce and finance begin to converge round this man as 
to a common centre. Note, too, as they approach, the 
rigid lines of their facial expressions begin to relax, the 
hard, firm-set lips insensibly soften, the features im- 
perceptibly assume a more youthful, kindlier mould, and 
in a few moments, as if assisting in some rite of worship 
common to the whole group, they bend their bodies 
forward in the attitude of strained attention. The 
heads and shoulders gradually gather closer together. 
You can almost fancy the ears are elongating as the 
bodies assume every instant a more acute dorsal angle. 



24 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

The centre man with the merry look and the mellow 
voice seems to be chanting or intoning something. 
Perhaps some portion of a litany ! Who knows "? 
Suddenly, as if touched by a simultaneous electric shock, 
the heads are thrown back, the hands vigorously smite 
the knees or thighs as the former angle is reversed, and 
the back is now curved inwards while the region of 
emlonpoint is thrust violently forward, and from the 
assembled cluster, while timid wayfarers and scurrying 
hurrying passers-by cast looks of wonderment, derision, 
or envy at the coterie, there bursts a loud, long-sus- 
tained cacophony, a reverberating, ringing, roaring Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! that brings dancing tears to the 
eyes, brightens the sooty gloom of the sordid street, and 
actually for one brief, joyous moment, puts to flight the 
hosts of Mammon and the imps of that demon of our 
modern civilisation that men call 'Unrestricted Com- 
petition.' And what has brought it all about *? What 
is the meaning of it all ? Ask that old gentleman who 
is now wiping his eyes and brow, while his fat sides still 
shake with the delicious sensations of gratified humour, 
and he will probably tell you, ' Oh, it's that deil's buckie 
Jamie, or Wullie, or Geordie So-and-so's been tellin's a 
new Scottish story he's got baud o'.' Note, the old 
gentleman has unconsciously fallen into a mode of speech 
which is part of his boyhood. He has reverted to his 
native vernacular. For a brief moment in the heart of 
busy London, or Liverpool, or Sydney, he is back again 
'amang the heather,' and for one brief, blissful moment 
he is a boy once more. blessed gift and power of 
humour ! What bright, inspiring, cheering impulses and 
emotions canst thou not stir and quicken into noble. 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 25 

elevating life and energy ? And, alas ! too, like every 
human faculty, to what swinish depths and to what 
' base uses ' mayest not thou be put % 

One of the most difficult and delicate gradations or 
manifestations of our native humour is undoubtedly 
that which plays round the treatment of sacred subjects 
It may be like a harmless lambent flame, lighting up 
and scorching not. It may be like a ruddy glow, 
heating, warming, comforting, and cheering, yet still 
innocent and non-destructive. In rude or reckless hands 
it may be a blasting, scathing, wholly subversive and 
destructive influence. 

Considering the peculiar discipline of the nation in 
matters controversial and polemic, which was a direct 
effect of the Eeformation ; throwing open the Book of 
Books to the eager study of the common people, and 
issuing in the long, stern, but victorious struggle for the 
right of private judgment ; we who are of the soil and 
the race need feel no surprise, that so many of the good 
old anecdotes of humorous speculation, of pithy expres- 
sion, of whimsical interpretation and droll experience, 
should cluster round matters biblical and beliefs theo- 
logical ; but as my aim in this collection is more to use 
illustration than homily, perhaps I may be pardoned if I 
pass from the didactic, once more to the reminiscent and 
descriptive. 

One very esteemed neighbour of mine in New South 
Wales, a well-known leading banker, not himself a 
Scotchman, but more enthusiastic, I think, than any Cale- 
donian I have ever met, in his appreciation of Scottish 
humour, writing me from Aden, of all places on the face 
of the earth, says : ' I send you the enclosed two stories 



26 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

for your book if you care to have them. They are said 
never to have been hitherto pubHshed, and I certainly 
have never heard them before.' 

' On his wedding tour, many years ago, a well-known 
medico and his wife joined a party of sight-seers who 
were being shown over the departed glories of "far- 
famed Holyrood." After they had gone through the 
interior of the Palace, they were conducted by the old 
custodian to the small burying-ground adjoining, where 
quite a number of celebrated historic personages have 
been laid to rest. "And this," said the guide, "is the 
tomb of King David." An elderly lady of the party 
seized his arm with much fervour, and with a deep 
tremor in her voice, and tears in her eyes, exclaimed, to 
the no small amusement of the rest of the party, and to 
the astonishment of the guide, whose imagination had 
never risen to such a flight : " Eh, sirs ! d'ye mean tae 
tell me that that's the place whaur the blessed Psaw'mist 
lies 1 Oh, jist to think o't ! That my puir een shuld 
have ever gazed upon a spot sae sacred." Evidently 
desirous of still further emotional excitement, however, 
she again turned to the attendant, and with deep 
intensity she asked : "An' whaur may Solomon lie^ " 

The second story, according to my friendly corre- 
spondent, is even better. He thus gives it ; and I am, of 
course, not responsible for any theological bent it may 
be thought to betray. 

' A teacher in a Scottish Sunday School, who was 
more given to preaching at, than to teaching his scholars, 
took as his subject one Sunday the afflictions of Job — 
in connection with which it behoved him to expound, 
very emphatically, the limitations that were imposed 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 27 

upon Satanic power. He complacently demonstrated, at 
least to his own satisfaction, that Satan could go no 
farther than God permitted him. In short he affirmed 
that "God had Satan on a chain," and that "the arch 
enemy of mankind " was thereby completely under divine 
control. On the following Sunday, the subject happened 
to be a sort of sequel to the former lesson, the text for 
the day being, " Be sober, be vigilant, for your enemy the 
devil, like a roaring lion," etc. On this occasion it 
behoved the worthy teacher to fittingly illustrate the 
wandering and predatory character of Apollyon, and in 
order to impress on his class, as deeply as possible, the 
dangers they were exposed to by night and by day — but 
especially by night — he urged them not to rove far away 
from their homes, so that they might always have a 
place of ready refuge from his demoniac assaults. With 
much wealth of imagery and illustration, he had driven 
this nail surely home, and felt satisfied from the counten- 
ances of the class that he had put in a clencher. Just 
then, however, one little sceptic — some ten years of age 
— with a logical turn of mind evidently, propounded a 
bit of a poser: "Didna ye tell us last Sunday, sir," 
said he, "that God had Sawtan on a chain? Hoo can 
he be gangin' stravaigin' aboot in siccan a fashion as ye 
have been tellin 's if that be the case 1 " The teacher, 
quite unused to having his theology challenged in this 
fashion, and yet feeling that some plausible explanation 
was demanded, braced himself up and thus delivered 
himself. " Ou ay ! ou ay ! nae doot it's pairfeckhj true 
God HAS Sawtan on a chain ; but, ye see, it's a gey an' 
lang yin. It's sae lang, in fac', that God can baud him 
fast an' yet lat him gang up an'doon through the length an' 



28 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

breadth o' the warld ! " " Humph ! " responded the uncon- 
vinced and wholly irreverent precocity, "if that's the w'y 
o't, the deevil micht jist as weel be gangin' aboot lowse !" ' 

The above reminds me of a capital story which has 
possibly been published, but which I believe originated 
in my native village, in the time of Mr. Hutton, my 
father's predecessor. 

A young clerical friend, who was notoriously hen- 
pecked, had taken charge temporarily, of old Mr. Button's 
duties. He had been warned by the venerable incumbent, 
to beware of the sharp wit of one old fellow, whom he 
had described, and whom the young lomm tenens would 
have to meet during his customary catechising itinerary. 
The young minister, sure enough, in the course of his 
duties, soon found himself in the very position as to which 
he had received the friendly caution from Mr. Hutton. 
Confident, however, in his own powers — just perhaps a 
little over-confident — he, after he had questioned nearly 
all the members of the group gathered in the spacious 
farm-kitchen, turned rather sharply to the pawky plough- 
man, being in fact conscious of, and rather irritated by, 
his shrewdly observant and self-possessed manner, and in 
his loftiest and most patronising tone said : ' Can you 
tell me, my good man, how long did Adam continue in a 
state of innocence V ' Ou ay ! I ken that brawly ! ' said 
the humorous misogynist. ' It wis jist till he got a wife, 
sir ! But can ye tell me hoo lang ef ter that 1 ' 

The catechist had inly to confess that he would have 
done well to have paid more heed to his wise senior's 
shrewd advice. 

Not less characteristic and, I think, delightfully racy 
of the soil, was the purely professional reply of another 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 29 

bothy hand in the Mearns, who on being asked by the 
minister : ' For what purpose were our first parents put 
into the garden of Eden ? ' answered : ' Tae keep it clean, 
and klatt it, sir ! ' 

Poor Jock's duties being those pertaining to the 
important office of cattleman, in which the ' klatt,' or 
muck rake, is the indispensable instrument of use, his 
rough-and-ready interpretation of the ban of Eden — 
labour as a penalty for rebellion — led him to adopt the 
heavy burden of his daily toil as the fittest illustration, 
though probably the ' klatt ' belongs to a later era than 
the time of the first gardener. 

My friend Mr. Morrison, the well-known publisher 
and bookseller of Glasgow, told me recently a laughable 
christening story, very characteristic of the Boeotian sim- 
plicity of some of the old-time farm hands, and their direct 
bluntness of expression. It was new to me, although I 
fancy it has already been published. Jock had been sent 
by Tibbie his wife to see the minister, preparatory to 
making arrangements for the baptism of their first-born. 
Having stated his message, the pastor, following the usual 
custom, proceeded to put a few questions to Jock, with 
a view to test his fitness to stand sponsor, and to gauge 
his doctrinal knowledge on the subject of this particular 
sacrament. The only immediate result of his catechising, 
however, was to demonstrate Jock's utter and hopeless 
ignorance. The minister sadly shook his head. Jock 
looked eager and alarmed. At last the good man said : 
' John ! John ! ye're no fit to hold up your child ! ' ' No 
fit,' said the swarthy, brawny giant, complacently survey- 
ing his own athletic frame. 'No fit ? Losh, sir, I cud 
haud him up altho' he wis a bull stirk ! ' 



30 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

This reminds me of another capital catechising story 
from my neighbouring granite county, Aberdeen. The 
class had been reading the story of Joseph and his 
brethren, and it came to the turn of the visiting minister 
to examine the boys, with a view to test their recollec- 
tion of the main points of the narrative. 

With much unction and unnecessary prolixity, he 
had expatiated on the cruelty and treachery of the 
wicked brothers, the grief of the bereaved old patriarch, 
and so on. The replies had been quick, intelligent, 
and correct to all his questions. Such as — 

' What great crime did these sons of Jacob commit ? ' 

'They sold their brother Joseph.' 

' Quite correct. And for how much 1 ' 

' Twenty pieces of silver.' 

' Quite right ' ; and then wishing to impress on them 
the added heinousness of their conduct in the lie they 
told to their aged father, he asked — 

' And what added to the cruelty and wickedness of 
these bad brothers "? ' 

A pause. 

' What made their treachery even more detestable 
and heinous 1 ' 

Then a bright, little fellow stretched out an eager hand. 

' Well ! my man ? ' 

' Please, sir, they sell't him ower cheap.' 

The following is not new. It has been attributed to 
Norman Macleod and at least a dozen other prominent 
Scottish divines. I think, however, it is good enough to 
bear repetition, as, although well known to Scottish 
readers, it may be new to some of those who hail from 
' the ither side o', Tweed.' 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 31 

The minister had been examining the class on the 
Shorter Catechism, and the subject was Regeneration. 
He had been gravely trying to illustrate and explain 
what ' being born again ' meant. He spoke of the new 
life — the new birth— the upspringing of a new principle 
in the inner man — and so on ; and then with his good 
heart welling with tenderness, he addressed a bright- 
eyed little chappie, who had been manifesting great 
attention and interest, and he said to him, expecting an 
immediate, hearty response : — 

'Noo, my wee mannie, wadna ye like to be born 
again 1 

' Na, sir ! ' came the answer, prompt and emphatic, 
much to his surprise and disappointment. 

' What ! I am surprised ! Would ye no like to be 
born again 1 ' 

' Na, sir ! ' again came the reply, no less decided and 
prompt. 

' Dear me, how's that 1 Why wad ye no like to be 
born again % ' 

' Because I micht be born a lassie, sir,' said the little 
theologian, much to the good minister's relief, and not a 
little to his amusement. 

Somewhat after the same state of mind as Jock 
was in, when he thought of the ' klatt ' being used in 
Eden, was that of an old evangelist on the east coast 
among the 'fisher fowk,' and which I have got 'first 

hand ' from my dear old friend, the Eev. James H , 

now in Sydney, New South Wales. 

'I had a missionary for a time in my old church,' he 
writes, 'who used to say some strange things. One 
day he happened to have been preaching on Enoch, and 



32 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

no doubt desiring to illustrate his subject in such a way 
as to appeal to the immediate comprehension of the 
simple folk among whom he ministered, he told them in 
his quaint, homely fashion that — " In Enoch's time the 
kintra hed so feow fowk intill it, that there wud not be 
more than two faimilies atween Aberdour an' Dumfries." 
Further — " That sairvants in Enoch's time were not to 
be had for love nor money, consequently Enoch had to 
be his own baker, and moreover he hed to darn his own 
stockings.' 

'Preaching one day on spirits,' continues my friend, 
'he attempted to prove that a spirit had no corpus, by 
saying that "Mary Magdalene, out of whom seeven 
deevils hed been cast, did not require a coflfin one whit 
the less on that accoont." ' 

In this connection I might cite the case of a cautious 
old deacon, who had acquired some very liberal or, as 
his compeers would have said, ' latitudinawrian ' views of 
salvation. He was offering up a petition one night at a 
prayer-meeting, when in a temporary moment of forget- 
fulness, he thanked God for the 'salvation of all men,' 
but immediately qualified the sweeping admission by 
a true touch of genuine Scottish casuistry, adding, 
'which, Lord ! as Thou knowest, is true in one 
sense, but not in another ! ' 

As further illustrating the shrewd, practical estimate 
of the characters of biblical biography, of which I have 
given some rare examples in Dor Ain Folk, I might cite 
the following : — 

A rather flippant, young, self-sufficient fellow had 
been discussing the questions of women's rights, and the 
status of woman in our modern social order, with a 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 33 

shrewd old village dame, who was evidently an 
advanced Eadical, and he had found that the old lady- 
carried argumentative guns of no mean range and pene- 
tration. With a certain spice of mischief, wishing to 
pique her, he instanced the dictum of Solomon, the wise 
monarch of Israel, who, he said, must beyond a doubt 
have been a competent judge of the ways of women, 
their character, and capabilities. Thinking thus to 
silence her with the weight of an appeal to Scripture, 
he said : — 

' You know what Solomon said ' — referring to his 
many wives — ' " That amid the multitude he could not 
find one good woman." ' 

With a contemptuous toss of the head and a swift 
intuition which, however inconsequential and illogical, 
was splendidly feminine and spirited, the incensed old 
maid said : ' Hech, man ! nae wumman, nae dacent 
wumman ony w'y, wud hae haen ony thing tae dae wi' 
sic a character ! ' 

Somewhat akin to the old deacon's prayer above 
mentioned, but differing totally in the mental attitude 
of the suppliant, is the following. Nothing could, I 
think, more graphically portray the ineffable condescen- 
sion and complacent self-righteousness of the modern 
Pharisee. He was a precise, formal, snuff-dried, ' per- 
jink ' Writer to the Signet, in Edinburgh, and an elder 
in one of the leading churches there. At one church 
meeting, he was called on to lead in prayer, and he 
opened his petition mincingly and patronisingly in these 
words, spoken with an affected English accent : — 

' Lud ! we are pooah sinnahs, at least some of us, 
comparatively speaking.' 



34 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

As may have been seen from some of the foregoing 
examples, the hard -worked, conscientious, country- 
minister had oftentimes rather a disconcerting experi- 
ence during his annual round of catechetical visits to 
his flock. Let it not for a moment be inferred from the 
samples I have given, of what were after all abnormal 
incidents, that I am out of sympathy with the good old- 
fashioned custom of testing the knowledge of the flock 
in sacred lore by the pastor. On the contrary, I 
think it was a custom which is now most regrettably 
falling into desuetude as far as my information goes. 
I have been so long away from my native land that I 
really know not how far the old custom is adhered to or 
departed from, but this I know, that in the Colonies the 
younger generation have not the same intimate know- 
ledge of Scripture that their forefathers had, and the 
oftentimes hard -worked and under -paid minister has 
not the same opportunities for testing the knowledge of 
his flock that are afforded by the closer settlement and 
more circumscribed areas of parishes at home. In the 
Colonies it is no uncommon thing for a Presbyterian 
clergyman to have charge of a cure of souls, small in- 
deed in numbers as measured by home standards, but 
scattered over a territory bigger far than many a 
Scottish county. In my New England electorate I 
know of one dear old ' brither Scot,' from the Border- 
land, who for wellnigh twice a score of years has 
ministered to the spiritual wants of scattered, isolated, 
little communities of Presbyterians, and in all weathers 
has nobly done his duty of visiting, ministration, and 
the hundred and one kindly offices of the pastorate, 
which the scoffing outsider knows nothing of, with a 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 35 

rare fidelity and honest thoroughness that have won him 
the true respect and affection of every class of the com- 
munity. He is only one of many. The clerical brethren 
at home, surrounded with amenities which are the out- 
come of generations of hallowed associations and memo- 
ries, may in those moments of depression and lowered 
vitality which come to every worker in the intellectual 
and spiritual planes, indulge in a momentary envious 
thought of the broader horizon and wider sphere which 
he thinks belongs to his colonial fellow-worker. Alas ! 
' Far birds have fine feathers,' and the colonial office of 
the ministry is not by any means so devoid of cares and 
ddsagriahles as the occupant of the quiet, humdrum 
country manse may think. The conclusion of the whole 
matter, so far as my own humble judgment and observa- 
tion go, is that, next to preaching, the Bible Class — the 
steady, constant, unwearying, faithful inculcation of the 
great truths and facts of Bible history — is the most 
precious and profitable work that a Christian minister 
or any Christian worker can undertake. The plain, 
simple presentation of Bible truth is what I mean. 
Dogma and doctrine will come later on, when ' the man 
has put away childish things'; but the 'childish things' 
themselves, the leading facts, that is, of Bible history, 
are in themselves a liberal education, and when the 
Scottish nation sits down to reckon up all its advantages, 
and the things that have made for its truest and best 
progress, let it not forget the Bible lessons in the parish 
schools, and the faithful ministerial catechisings in the 
homes of the people. 

Sometimes certainly, as I have shown, the experiences 
of the catechist were humorous and grotesque enough. 



36 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

and I kave only room for one or two more of the sort. 
It was in 'the black country' of the west of Scotland, and 
the minister, on such a round of duty as I have been 
describing, entered the lowly dwelling of one of the 
pitmen. The presiding genius loci was a rather fiery -faced 
virago, who, with arms akimbo, and her flaming hair 
in wild disarray, gave the man of peace, as he thought, 
but a chill welcome. However, duty called, and he was 
not to be daunted by appearances however untoward and 
discouraging. After the usual conventional prelimin- 
aries of talk, he proceeded to his pastoral task, and 
began operations by asking the good wife — what he 
thought was a safe and easy question : — 
'What are you made of,.Janet?' 
' Ow jist flesh an' bluid, sir ! what else 1 ' 
' Oh no, Janet ! you are made of dust ! ' 
' Dust, sir 1 I'll dust yer lugs for ye ! ' 
And in spite of protestations and explanations, the 
worthy minister had to beat an undignified retreat. 

It might have been the same minister, but at any 
rate it was under somewhat similar circumstances in 
a small town in Clackmannanshire, that the worthy 
pastor had occasion to visit the long, unlovely row of 
pitmen's cottages or cabins built near the pit, and 
generally known in local parlance — j)ar excellence — as 
'The Eaw.' The housewife was not such a Tartar 
as the one last referred to, for she had bidden the 
minister a kindly welcome; and in the exercise of a 
rude hospitality had produced the whisky bottle 
and a rather dingy-looking glass. While leaning on 
the rickety table and conversing, the glass was 
unfortunately upset and broken. The collier's wife, in 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 37 

great concern, unconsciously disclosed the communal 
element in this primitive society by exclaiming : ' Eh ! 
wae's me, sirss ! an' there's no anither haill gless in a' 
the Eaw ! ' 

Some subtle association of ideas when I get on the 
topic of ministers, brings yet another biblical anecdote 
to mind. 

The story was told me by a gallant officer on my 
late voyage from Australia, and the subject was a 
gentle, meek-tempered pastor of a rural parish in Rox- 
burghshire. The good minister, while a perfectly lamb- 
like Arcadian in ordinary times, became sometimes a 
very Boanerges in the pulpit. He liked to thunder 
forth ' swelling words ' of sesquipedalian length, and one 
day having fallen into a perfect fervour, ' his soul waxed 
wroth within him ' as he noted the evident drowsiness 
of the bulk of his bucolic hearers. Smiting the sacred 
volume before him, he rolled out : 'But what is the use 
of my speaking thus ? It is but casting pearls before 
swine.' Suddenly he paused, and, with a deprecatory 
cough behind his hand, he added : ' Brethren, the ex- 
pression is strictly scriptural.' 

While on this subject of theological belief I cannot 
refrain from reproducing a delicious extract I cut from 
Blackwood's Magazine some time ago. It is so delightfully 
Scottish. An ardent Presbyterian was discussing with a 
brother churchman, the character and religious belief of 
X their common friend. The first of them thought 
X was going all wrong ; that his life was well enough, 
but on questions of doctrine and faith he was very 
shaky. ' Oh, not at all ! I don't agree with you,' said 
the other. ' X is all right, I am sure ; he thoroughly 



38 BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 

believes in total depravity ! ' 'He may believe in it,' 
was the answer, ' as a dogma ; but the question is, Does 
he act up to it in his life *? I am afraid he does not ! ' 

A quip which was as orthodox as it is witty is the 
following : — 

A minister passed one of his flock on the high road, 
and the good man kindly bade the minister ' Good- 
mornin',' remarking at the same time that it was ' verra 
cauld.' 'Ay, ay! Sandie,' said the jocular cleric, mak- 
ing an obvious pun on the sound of the word 'cauld,' 
'Many are called, but few are chosen.' 'Aweel, 
minister,' was Sandie's dry retort, ' if ye're no chosen, 
I'm thinkin' ye'll no be lang cauld ! ' 

Equally characteristic was the following. The anec- 
dote is not new, but thus it goes : — 

A popular English Nonconformist divine was resid- 
ing with a farmer near Glasgow, while on a visit to that 
city, whither he had gone on a deputation from the 
Wesleyan Missionary Society, After dinner, in reply 
to an invitation to partake of some fine fruit, he men- 
tioned to the family a curious circumstance concerning him- 
self, namely, that he had never in his life tasted an apple, 
pear, grape, or indeed any kind of green fruit. The fact 
seemed to evoke considerable surprise from the company; 
but a cautious Scotchman of a practical, matter-of-f9,ct 
turn of mind, and who had listened with apparent un- 
concern, dryly remarked : ' It's a peety but ye had been 
in Paradise, an' there michtna hae been ony fa' ! ' 

Let me be pardoned if I venture just to add still 
another which has not been before published. It shows 
the quaint realism and somewhat prosaic imagination of 
the simple folk of the older generation. My cousin. 



BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL 39 

Mrs. Harkness, had an old faithful servant from Harris 
named Kirsty. Kirsty knew but very little English, 
but showed her good upbringing, and good example too, 
by never neglecting the duty of attending public wor- 
ship, although it was often but little of the English she 
could understand. One night, however, she came home 
looking very pleased, and said in reply to the usual 
question, ' Well, Kirsty, how did you get on to-night 1 ' 
' Oh, mistress, I likit ta minister so weel ta nicht. I 
could follow nearly efery word.' 'Ay, and what was 
he preaching about, Kirsty?' 'Deed, I canna richtly 
tell you. [It will pe what they caa' Cumstrohl in ta 
Gaelic. Sorra tak' it ; I dinna know in the worl' what 
they will caal him in ta Englitch. But,' her face light- 
ing up, 'it wass ta laad that went awaay an' aate ta 
peelins ! ' 

Poor Kirsty's idea of the Prodigal Son eating out 
of the trough of swine husks, may not have been an 
oriental one, but suggested by home conditions. Yet it 
was graphic, and there is just a touch of pathos in it too. 



CHAPTEE III 

MINISTER AND MANSE 

Their influence on the people — The Presbytery dinner — Critical 
attitude towards the minister — John's criticism of the new 
minister — A Montrose hearer — The sick fisherman — A punning 
text — Caustic advice — Salient features of Presbyterianism : 
its merits and drawbacks — Belief in democracy — Free speech 
— Instances of pulpit criticism — Droll descriptions of ministers 
— "Wholesale plagiarism — An'ra the critic — Dr. Aird's story — 
Hope even for a bishop — Reluctant emotion — A dream and 
the interpretation thereof. 

It is a genuine tribute to the quiet power and widely 
prevalent influence of the pulpit and the manse upon 
the life and character of the people, the peasantry 
especially, that so many stories of Scottish life and 
character find their inspiration and their rallying-point 
in the occupant of both. There are quite as many 
Scottish anecdotes aboufc ministers, their sayings and 
doings, as about whisky, and that is saying a good deal. 
Nor indeed need this be wondered at. In the length 
and breadth of rural Scotland, at all events, the manse 
and the kirk were always a living centre of intellectual 
and spiritual life. In the cities, of course, there were 
plentiful channels of activity and numberless distrac- 



MINISTER AND MANSE 41 

tions, but not so in the country. Farmer and hind 
alike, old and young, rich and poor, all had in turn, at 
some time or other, to come into personal contact with, 
or come under the influence of, the minister. Then 
too he was generally one of the people themselves. He 
had graduated in the common school. He belonged to 
no narrow, exclusive, sacerdotal caste. He was essen- 
tially ' a minister,' not ' a priest.' Added to this he 
was, from the very fact of his being a minister of the 
Presbyterian Church, a man of solid attainments and of 
considerable culture. If not a brilliant scholar, or a 
profound theologian, the high standards of education so 
wisely set up by the Church, ensured at least that the 
Scottish minister should be the equal in scholarship, if 
not the superior, of any ordinary man over whom he 
ministered. Indeed to a genial, earnest, whole-souled 
man, and such they mostly were, there were a thousand 
kindly, tender ties being constantly formed, which served 
to make the connection between the manse and the 
parish a very real and a very enduring one. But all 
this I have detailed at length in Oor Ain Folk, and it 
is dwelt upon by every writer on Scottish character 
from John Gait downwards. 

Some of the very best illustrations, in fact, of the 
oddities and drolleries, the quaint quips and funny 
conceits, the angularities and crannies, the strongly- 
marked and ever-varying individuality of that strange 
compound the rural Scot, are to be found among the 
rich treasure-trove of anecdote and observation, which 
almost every country minister had at his command in 
my young days. I well remember at the Presbytery 
dinners what a rich flow of humour would be let loose ; 



42 MINISTER AND MANSE 

how story would succeed story in endless procession. 
And to have seen and heard these reverend gentlemen 
when a good dinner had mellowed their frame of mind, 
and toned down for a time the professional rigidity of 
their general demeanour, was an introduction to Nodes 
Ambrosianm of a most enjoyable order indeed. Nor 
was the refreshment provided, always such as would 
have suited an ascetic, although I never remember it 
to have been on so lavish a scale as is implied in the 
remark of a Church of Scotland clergyman the other 
day to a young clerical friend of my own. Speaking of 
old times, and the changes that have taken place in 
public sentiment, the subject of Presbytery dinners 
happened to come up. The old gentleman's eye kindled 
at the bare recollection, and he racily said : ' Eh, man, 
I mind fine whan the Presbytery denner was jist like 
the washin' day, wi' the steam o' the toddy.' 

Of course the minister was, in his parish, like ' a city 
set on a hill.' ' He could not be hid.' If it was his 
office and duty to chide the careless, to reprove the 
thoughtless, to rebuke the erring, or to denounce the 
hardened and obdurate, depend upon it his own conduct 
was most narrowly watched and freely criticised. The 
watchful scrutiny, too, extended to his wife and family, 
and even to distant relations and the very servants. 
The manse, it was thought, possessed ' great preveeleges,' 
and these carried with them corresponding duties and 
responsibilities. As a rule, the bluff, frank independ- 
ence of the sturdy Scottish nature, had a certain manly, 
chivalrous strain in it, so that while the parishioners were 
perfectly well aware of the limits within which clerical 
authority could be exercised, — and indeed with a lazy 



MINISTER AND MANSE 43 

or inept, a grasping or autocratic, or above all a worldly 
minister, they would very often 'show their teeth,' as 
the saying is, and manifest their independence in a way 
that was very peremptory and often startlingly efficacious, 
— yet, the general attitude was one of much personal re- 
gard and genuine lovingkindness towards their minister, 
and they were not disposed to be too exacting if the good 
man were at all possessed of ordinary tact and trans- 
parent honesty of purpose. 

Perhaps, however, the few selected illustrations I 
have to give, will best show the relationships that existed 
between the minister and his people in the fast- vanishing 
olden time, and the unique position of the minister him- 
self, in the days ere Agnosticism and Theosophy had 
become fashionable with the dilettanti. 

Here, for instance, is a gem in the way of rustic 
criticism, worthy of a Greek philosopher, and showing 
most tellingly the shrewd estimate of the relative 
positions of shepherd and flock on the part of the 
parishioner. A very studious, scholarly minister, of 
nervous, sensitive, retiring nature, had lately been in- 
ducted into a parish by the patron of the living, and 
while delivering erudite discourses he was not very 
attentive to his pastoral duties. One of his hearers, a 
bit of a Diogenes in his way, was asked, 'How he 
likit the new minister.' John's reply was delicious : 
' Weel, I canna jist a'thegither say ; for throw the week 
he's inveesible, an' on the Sawbath he's incompree- 
hensible ! ' 

The next shows the kindly, genial nature of the old- 
time pastor. 

A venerable divine in Montrose was accosted by an 



44 MINISTER AND MANSE 

old wifie one day — one of his most attentive and appre- 
ciative hearers — with a remark after this sort : ' Eh, 
doctor, I div like richt weel to hear yer ain sel' preech, 
for what ye say jist gaes in at the yae lug an' oot at the 
tither ! ' The poor old bodie really meant that the good 
doctor was clear and easily understandable. With a 
humorous smile the worthy minister replied : ' Ah, my 
gude wumman, I'm fleyed there's only ower mony like 
yersel' ! ' 

As showing how purely professional a view of certain 
clerical duties was taken by some of the simple rustic 
folks, and the queer association of ideas suggested by 
certain ministrations, the following is decidedly quaint. 
It happened, I believe, to the parish minister of Inver- 
allochy, who had gone to visit a sick fisherman. The 
poor fellow was pretty cheerful, but when the minister 
after a little conversation proceeded to kneel down by 
the bedside, intending to offer up prayer, the startled 
patient was apparently aroused all at once to a con- 
sciousness that his condition was possibly more 
dangerous than he had even himself suspected, and 
with an outburst that was pathetic, yet irresistibly 
ludicrous, he blurted out : ' Lord ! has it come to 
this ? ' 

Of punning texts there have been numberless in- 
stances published, but probably this is one of the best. 
It was on the occasion of the Laird bringing home his 
third wife, and the old minister took for his text : 
' There will be abundance of peace so long as the moon 
endureth ! ' 

For quiet, dry irony the following, too, is worthy 
of record. 'What will I preach about]' said a con- 



MINISTER AND MANSE 45 

ceited young fellow, who had rather an exaggerated 
estimate of his own gifts of extemporary speech, as 
he chatted with the elderly brother in the vestry, pre- 
vious to beginning the service. 'What will I preach 
about ^ It is nearly time to go into the pulpit, and 
really I do not know what to preach about?' 'Jist 
preach aboot a quarter of an 'oor ! ' was the caustic 
reply. 

I fancy there can be little question of the claim 
made for the Presbyterian form of church government, 
that it has fostered and strengthened the critical faculties 
of the people. It certainly deepens the sense of indi- 
vidual responsibility ; and although the system of Pres- 
bytery, and Synod, and G-eneral Assembly undoubtedly 
affords ample scope for the ambitious, the gifted, and 
the daring among both clergy and laity to make their 
mark, and display their capacity for debate, for adminis- 
trative ability, or for bold initiative, yet the genius of 
the system, as it appears to me, lies more in the constant 
recognition of the worth of the individual — the inalien- 
able privilege of the individual member to exercise his 
own private right of judgment; and enjoying as they 
do the widest franchise in all essential matters pertain- 
ing to the temporal government of the Church — to the 
selection of ministers, for instance, and appointment to all 
minor offices — thanks to the Disruption movement — it is 
little wonder that we find the critical faculty so keen, 
the sense of one's own importance so active, and the 
spirit of breezy independence so manifest, as becomes 
very evident so soon as you begin to tackle a Scottish 
Presbyterian on any point of doctrine, practice, pre- 
cedent, or discipline, in connection with church affairs. 



46 MINISTER AND MANSE 

Doubtless there are drawbacks. Some pragmatic, self- 
assertive, combative being in a church, may disturb for 
a time the corporate serenity ; some ' thrawn,' lop-sided 
individual, with a mental or intellectual twist or kink in 
him, may act for the time being as a moral blister ; but 
even that surely is better than the unruffled stagnation 
of an inert indifferentism, the torpor of meek acquies- 
cence in priestly decrees, the tame subservience to the 
dominance of a sacerdotal or aristocratic caste, or that 
benumbing thraldom of the human spirit, begotten 
always by a costly and complicated system of ritual 
and ornate worship, in which the mere form, and the 
personality of the hierophant, tend invariably to supplant 
the spirit and the divine object of worship. 

In church government as in politics, I believe in 
trusting the people — in allowing them the widest and 
freest franchise possible, and in encouraging and culti- 
vating to the utmost, the sense of individual responsibility 
and the sacred right of free, private judgment. I am 
optimist enough to believe that the corporate good-sense 
of an educated people, trained to exercise their judgment 
and to weigh their responsibilities, will, in the main, 
suffice to prevent any glaring or long -continued abuse 
of such freedom. And in any case, I fancy even the 
mistakes and excesses of such a free system, are prefer- 
able to the wild outbursts of fanatic fury and unreason- 
able rage perpetrated by helots or thralls — whether 
spontaneous, or directed by dictator or demagogue, aris- 
tocrat or plutocrat, king or priest. 

I have culled one or two pithy instances of this free 
criticism, which illustrate the points I have touched 
upon, and which I value, too, as being capital specimens 



MINISTER AND MANSE 47 

of the pithy, terse expressiveness of the Scottish 
tongue. 

What could be more pointed, terse, and forcible, for 
instance, than the following 1 

Two old cronies had been hearing the famous Dr. 
Chalmers, and in exercise of the freedom I have been 
referring to, were discussing the merits of the preacher 
after his performances in the pulpit. One of the two 
was distinctly and declaredly appreciative, almost effu- 
sively so for a cannie Scot ; but her praises did not 
seem to find much echo from her companion. AVishing 
to evoke some encomiastic criticism from her reticent 
fellow-hearer she said : — 

' Weel, Marget ! an' what thocht ye o' oor doctor 
the day, than ? ' 

' 'Deed, no muckle ! ' 

' Toots, 'umman ! Surely he wis unco deep ! ' 

' Umph ! He wisna deep, he was drumlie ! ' 

The subject of the next was a pretentious young 
preacher, whose complacent conceit had made him quite 
oblivious of the fact that he was addressing as coldly 
critical, and, to one of his calibre and methods, as unre- 
sponsive and perhaps cynical an audience as could be 
found in all Christendom. At length, having essayed 
an oratorical flight quite beyond the strength of his 
callow intellectual pinions, he found himself tangled in 
an inextricable and incomprehensible jumble of mixed 
metaphors. One old wife, sitting in the body of the 
kirk beside her gudeman, and who had been listening 
most intently, with her hand behind her ear, bent over 
and appealed to her grim consort, in a tone loud enough 
to be heard for several seats around : — 



48 MINUTER AND MANSE 

' Fat's his grund, John 1 ' 

John replied with a most expressive grunt, and in a 
tone even more widely audible : — 

' Hech ! he his 7iae grund. He's soomin' ! ' 

A specimen of rather shrewd and semi-contemptuous 
criticism was that on a Congregational minister of de- 
cidedly mediocre powers and low spirituality, who had 
forsaken his own connection to join the Establishment. 

He was appointed to the charge of S parish, and on 

the occasion of his first appearance in his new pulpit, 
a number of his old hearers, impelled by curiosity, went 
to hear him make his debut in his fresh environment. 
Among them was an old fisherman — a strong Inde- 
pendent — and he made the following comment after the 
service on the way home : — 

' Ay, ay ! he'll nae doot mak' a gude Moderate 
minister ! ' 

' How so ? ' 

' Oh, he jist prayed aboot the craps, an' the weather, 
an' the cattle baists; in fac', a' thing aboot a fairm- 
yaird ! ' 

Similarly Dr. Mason relates a good anecdote, illustrat- 
ing the strange vagaries of pulpit criticism. One old 
woman, he tells, after having heard a newly -placed 
minister preach, was heard to exclaim : ' Eh ! weel, sirss ! 
he hisna a divertin' coontenance ! ' 

As an unconscious association of ideas by which read- 
ing the sermon was classed as a bad habit, the following 
is characteristic : — 

An old coach-driver, who was an enthusiastic admirer 
of the reverend Dr. Welsh, minister of Old Deer, 
was expatiating to his box-seat passenger on the virtues 



MINISTER AND MANSE 49 

of his favourite. He was very loud and very emphatic 
on the merits of the learned doctor. ' He wis a graund 
scholar ; he wis a fine, poo'erfu' preacher ; he wis a 
magneeficent theeologian,' and so on, and so on. The 
passenger innocently asked : ' Does he read 1 ' With an 
accent of deep disgust the driver replied : ' Feech, na ! 
He jist bites his nails an' claws his croon i' the poo'pit.' 

Somewhat akin to this was the terse but telling 
description, by a country servant lassie, of a well- 
known clergyman in my native county, Forfarshire. 
His appearance is not a little remarkable, as he affects 
a clean-shaven face, which is 'sicklied o'er' possibly 
with the ' pale cast of thought,' though some of his 
clerical brethren doubt if it be that. The pale face 
is surmounted by a chevehire of frizzed hair, something 
after the manner of a chief of the Solomon Islands, and 
he has a Boanerges-like voice, which he tries to model 
on the style of Henry Irving. This was the occupant 
of the pulpit on the evening in question ; and the lassie, 
on her return home, was of course asked about the 
minister and the sermon in orthodox Scottish style. 
She replied : — 

' Oh, it wisna oor ain minister the nicht ; we hed a 
strainger.' 

' Oh, who was it ? what was he like ? ' 

' I didna hear his naime, mem ; but he had a face 
like a wumman, a vyse (voice) like a lion, an' a heid 
like a heather besom ! ' 

An old minister in Aberdeenshire on his deathbed 
bequeathed a bit of worldly wisdom to his only son in 
these words : 'Jock,' he faintly said, 'dinna mairry for 
siller ; ye'll can borrow cheaper.' 

E 



50 MINISTER AND MANSE 

To another of these sturdy farmer -clerics of the 
old school who was rather an indifferent preacher, 
and who was conducting his 'veesitations,' a de- 
cidedly disconcerting answer was given by an old 
maiden lady, with whom, as it happened, the minister 
was not a persona grata. She was just preparing 
to partake of her afternoon tea when the minister 
arrived, and of course, in obedience to the universally 
recognised and practised laws of Scottish hospitality, 
she proffered him a share of the fragrant, ' steaming 
decoction. 

The poor man was under some constraint, knowing 
full well that he was no great favourite with Miss Jean. 
He was, besides, utterly devoid of that pleasant social 
tact which is such a valuable endowment. Kemarking 
that there was some obstruction in the spout of the 
teapot, and for want of anything better to say, he 
stupidly hazarded the remark : — 

' Yer teapot disna rin. Miss Kennedy.' 

'Ah, minister,' dryly retorted the' spinster, 'it's jist 
like yersel'. It has an unco puir delivery.' 

The Rev. Mr. L of M^ — — was accosted one 

Monday morning by a member of his congregation — a 
quiet, pawky weaver — and after the usual interchange 
of pleasant salutations the weaver said : — 

' Thon wis a fine sappy sermon ye gied 's yesterday, 
minister ! ' 

'Weel, John,' said the gratified preacher, 'I'm sure 
I'm gled if ye were pleased.' 

'Ay,' said John, with dry significance; 'but it 
wisna yer ain ! ' 

'Weel, ye see, John,' somewhat sheepishly replied 



MINISTER AND MANSE 51 

Mr. L and making the best of it — ' we ministers 

are sometimes overworked just like other workmen; 
and after a hard week of extra duties we are sometimes 
not in a fit state to attack original composition, and so 
we have just to read up, and are forced to borrow ideas 
occasionally.' 

John's reply was deliciously professional and very 
Scottish : ' Oo ay, sir ! nae doot ! I wadna min' if ye 
only took a pirn or twa occasionally, but ye suldna tak' 
the haill wab, sir ! ' 

Doubtless this free, plain-spoken criticism had its 
advantages. It kept the occupant of the pulpit up to 
the mark, and was an evidence both of the blunt inde- 
pendence and the keen intellectual attentiveness and 
mental alertness of the hearers. The mutual relation- 
ship was, so far as I know, quite peculiar to the Scottish 
people. Here is another homely illustration. 

In a certain congregation near Glasgow there was one 
of the class of hearers I have been referring to, named 
Andrew Hutton, generally spoken of as ' An'ra.' A nerv- 
ous, emotional young preacher named M'Lean had been 
occupying the pulpit for a time during the summer, and 
though a scholarly, eloquent man, his nervousness made 
him very rapid in his utterance. An old friend of 
mine, who told me the story, after the sermon one day, 
had overtaken An'ra, and as usual they began criticising 

the preacher and the sermon. Mr. M said : ' He is 

a clever man, An'ra, but I thought he spoke rather fast.' 
'Ow ay, sir,' responded An'ra, in a dry, matter-of- 
fact tone, 'the fac' is, I've chackit him twae-'ree times 
for the same faut masel'.' 

Dr. Aird, a venerable ex -Moderator of the Free 



52 MINISTER AND MANSE 

Church of Scotland, told a good story about a minister 
who in the old days of patronage had been forced upon 
a congregation at Alness. The anecdote has already 
seen publication, but it is good enough to bear repeti- 
tion. As may easily be imagined, the new minister 
was but coldly received; but he took possession of 
manse and pulpit, began to visit the people, and one 
day called upon an old elder, who however greeted him 
very gruffly. Nothing daunted, the minister seated 
himself, began conversing, and in a little while took out 
his snuff-box. 

' Oh,' said the elder, ' ye tak' snufF, div ye ? ' 

'Oh yes.' 

'Weel, that's the first mark o' grace I've seen in ye.' 

' How do you make that out *? ' asked the minister. 

'Div ye no read o' Solomon's temple,' replied the 
elder, ' that a' the snuffers were o' pure gold 1 ' 

The following also is second-hand, but is, I think, 
very characteristic of an old-fashioned, narrow, rural 
type of rustic sectarianism, which, however, is not 
exclusively Scottish or Presbyterian. A well-known 
Anglican bishop, while paying a visit at Taymouth 
Castle during the lifetime of the last Marquis of Breadal- 
bane, a devoted adherent of the Free Church of Scot- 
land, was taken by Lady Breadalbane (7ide Baillie of 
Jerviswoode) into one of the cottages on the estate 
occupied by an old Highland woman, a 'true blue' 
Presbyterian, who was greatly pleased by the bishop's 
frank and friendly manner. A few days afterwards 
the bishop left the castle, and Lady Breadalbane paid 
another visit to her humble friend, when the following 
conversation took place : — 



MINISTER AND MANSE 53 

' Do you know who that was, Mary, that came to see 
you last week 1 ' 

' No, my lady,' was the reply. 

' The famous Bishop of Oxford,' said her ladyship. 

On which the old Highland crofter, with a tolerance 
and discrimination rising superior to the traditions of 
her ancestral faith, quietly remarked : — 

' Aweel, my lady, he's a rael fine man ; an' a' I can 
say is, that I trust an' pray he'll gang to heeven, 
bishop though he be ! ' 

The same attitude of somewhat unwilling admiration 
towards any person outside the narrow circle of one's 
own familiar ken, is exemplified in the following : — 

A raw, rustic youth came to visit his friends in 
Glasgow, and, with the proverbial hospitality of the 
Clydeside capital, they spared no pains to make his stay 
agreeable. On the Sunday they took him to hear one 
of St. Mungo's most able and renowned preachers, who 
happened to deliver, even for him, an exceptionally 
moving and pathetic sermon. Returning from church, 
in answer to a query how he liked the service, he 
revealed his feelings thus : — 

' It wis a rare discoorse ! A' the f owk near me wis 
greetin' ; an', feth, I wis gey near't masel'. But I didna 
like tae gie w'y, seein' he wisna oor ain meenister.' 

A clerical friend sends me the following, which he 
characterises as a 'made-up story, but quaint.' There 
is humour in it, certainly of the conventional kind, but 
it also afibrds an illustration of the way in which the 
rustic mind was wont to regard the professions and their 
distinguishing characteristics. The story was told my 
friend by an old Carnoustie man of eighty-six summers, 



54 MINISTER AND MANSE 

who asked him if he had ever heard of the perplexing 
dream a certain man had, and its interpretation. ' No,' 
was my friend's reply; 'let me hear it.' ' Aweel,' said 
the patriarch, 'it's aboot a man that had a terrible 
dream. He thocht he had three sons, and yin turned 
oot a beggar, yin a thief, and the third a murderer. 
He was sore perplexed, and tell't his dream to a friend.' 
According to the story, the friend must have been a bit 
of a cynic, for his advice was to ' mak' ane a minister, 
an' he'll ha'e to do plenty o' begging ; mak' anither a 
lawyer, an' deil a fear o' him but he'll thieve eneuch ; 
an' if ye mak' the third a doctor, sorra tak' him, but 
he'll kill plenty ! ' 



CHAPTER IV 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 



Feudal monopolists — The Scottish Universities — The training for 
manse life — Dry, clerical humour — The Apostle of the High- 
lands performs a queer christening — The minister of Birse on 
snuff-taking — Anecdotes of 'Wattie Dunlop' — Deducing a 
doctrine — Auld Jenny on preaching — A dubious compliment 
— Unemotional hearers — The elder's presentation speech — A 
lapsus lingiLce — Dr. Eadie on the Speerit — Patrick Robertson's 
' convairt ' — Dunkie Demster's enemy — Pawky clerical puns — 
An electioneering prayer — Dr. Lindsay Alexander's beadle. 

The picture would be incomplete, however, were we 
only to consider the attitude of the lay mind toward 
the cleric. To an ambitious, strong-minded, or gifted 
man the office of the ministry always afforded splendid 
scope for the exercise of his best energies. Doubtless 
in the majority of cases, the Scottish clergy obeyed deep 
spiritual impulses and a clear call from the unseen, in 
the choice of their sacred profession. Under feudal 
institutions, however, and a clan system, which, how- 
ever much it may have been in its origin founded on a 
community of kinship and territory, and embraced all 
classes of the community, yet became increasingly aris- 
tocratic as it developed, the best positions in the 



56 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

higher professions were thus more and more monopolised 
by the rich and powerful, and the common people 
were largely excluded from a participation in the prizes 
of political and professional careers. This is much 
what has happened under a strong feudal system every- 
where. The son of a poor man could not aspire to an 
officership in army or navy. Parliament and the Bar 
were for the most part beyond his reach. The younger 
cadets of titled or rich families, plucked the plums in 
commerce and adventure. But happily the avenues of 
learning were open to the humblest and poorest of 
Scotia's sons. So the ranks of the learned professions 
were constantly being reinforced by the strenuous 
Spartan sons of farm and .manse and humble cottage, 
and especially so in the noble healing professions — 
healing in the broadest sense — healing the maladies of 
human flesh and human spirit, the cure of both bodies 
and souls of men. The world at large owes a debt of 
gratitude to the grand old Scottish Universities for 
their splendid armies of earnest, well-trained sons in 
both physic and divinity. The roll of their distin- 
guished graduates is indeed legion. 

From following the plough to filling the pulpit or 
the professor's chair, was thus quite a common achieve- 
ment to the persevering, tenacious, ambitious students 
of the very humblest origin ; and having to exercise 
self-denial and determination of the most strenuous 
kind, having to overcome difficulties that would have 
daunted any less determined race, having gone through 
the hard discipline of an exacting, keenly competitive 
collegiate course, little wonder, was it that the men who 
emerged victorious from such an ordeal and with such 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 57 

a training, were able pretty generally to hold their own, 
to render a good account of their stewardship to even 
the most critical and contumacious; and so the rural 
records of Scottish manse-life teem with illustrations of 
racy wit and manly independence, of heroic endeavour 
and noble self-abnegation, of fervid zeal and lofty 
patriotism, of quiet endurance and ' patient continuance 
in well-doing,' and, in a word, many of the brightest 
examples of ' plain living and high thinking ' among all 
the crowded pages of human biography. 

But I am dealing more with the humorous side of 
Scottish character, and my own disposition perhaps 
naturally draws me in that direction ; so I must content 
myself and, I trust, please my readers by transcribing 
from my note-book now, some of the specimens I have 
gathered, in which the worthy minister himself appears 
to more or less good advantage. 

A good instance of dry, clerical, caustic wit is that 
told of an old divine, who was of a genial disposition, 
but liked to be met in the same spirit. A young 
minister of the new-fangled ascetic school, had been filling 
the old gentleman's pulpit during the evening service, 
and after a fervid and fiery discourse he was disrobing 
in the vestry. The old gentleman had made some 
pleasant complimentary speeches, and was pressing the 
hospitality of the manse on the younger brother, whose 
response had been somewhat of a frigid character. The 
old man, however, on hospitable thoughts intent, said : 
' Hoots, man, ye've preached a good sermon an' ye'll be 
nane the waur o' a sma' refresher efter yer day's wark. 
So come awa' and ye can share a tumbler of good toddy 
wi' me.' The younger man responded to this : ' That 



58 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

he was much obhged, but really he did not drink, nor 
did he approve of drinking.' 'Aweel, aweel,' said the 
kindly old man, ' I'll no press ye. " Let every man be 
fully persuaded in his own mind," ye ken. But ye can 
surely come inbye, and we can share a pipe and a quiet 
crack together.' Still more frigidly came the disclaimer, 
' That really he did not smoke ! ' whereat the old minister 
suddenly changed his tone and sharply asked : ' Ay, man, 
do ye eat gerse 1 ' ' Eat grass ? ' asked the youth, quite 
surprised at such a question. ' Eat grass 1 No ! What 
makes you ask that?' 'Weel, weel,' came the dry 
retort, ' ye can gang yer ways ; for if ye neither smoke 
nor drink nor eat gerse, yer naither fit company for 
man nor beast.' ' • 

Innumerable are the good stories told of that fine old 
Highland gentleman and minister, the Rev. Mr. M'Intosh 
of Ferintosh, called from his zeal and noble Christian 
activity 'the Apostle of the Highlands.' Perhaps one 
of the most characteristic and least known — although 
I am afraid it has already been published — is that 
wherein he turned the tables on a knot of rather super- 
cilious, scoffing, young English sportsmen. It occurred 
on one of the boats coming from Skye, about the time 
of the General Assembly's annual gathering, and 
Ferintosh was accompanied by a young clerical brother, 
whose zeal and temper would seem to have been greater 
than his discretion. At all events, he had become 
entangled in rather a heated argument with the young 
gentlemen aforesaid — a hilarious party, who had been 
' doing ' Skye, and who had become possessed of an 
idea that the young cleric was fair 'game' for their 
Cockney wit. One of them was the proud possessor of a 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 59 

fine little Skye-terrier puppy, and being a little elevated 
with the wine they had taken, they were annoying the 
young minister by requesting him to bestow a fitting 
baptismal appellation on the wee doggie. They had been 
rather uncomplimentary in their remarks about the 
Scottish ritual — had indulged in some ill-bred sneers 
about the churches and ministers generally — and the 
fiery young Celt, minister though he was, had lost his 
temper, and was indulging in an unprofitable wrangle 
with the graceless young scamps. Just then Mr. 
M'Intosh came up to the party, and his keen eye 
and ready wit at once took in the whole situation. 
Shouldering his way into the very centre of the group, 
he good-humouredly eff'ected a diversion in his youthful 
colleague's favour by demanding if it was 'according 
to the ethics of English sport for half a dozen to set on 
one % ' The young fellows, seeing in the venexable old 
divine but a fresh target for their coarse wit, winked at 
each other, and turned their attention to the new-comer. 

' Oh ! we were simply wanting the parson to exercise 
his vocation,' said the ringleader. 

' Ay,' dryly replied the old minister, ' as how 1 ' 

' Well, we simply wanted him to baptize this puppy 
dog,' said the chief tormentor. 

' Oh, ye want yer puppy dog bapteezed, do ye ? ' 
said MTntosh. ' Well, I have no objections to do that 
for ye.' 

At this the young fellows nudged each other, 
guffawed, gathered closer round, and imagined they 
saw a good joke well on the way, and that they would 
have some ripe fun at the expense of the veteran 
preacher. By this time nearly all the passengers, 



60 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

attracted by the unusual proceedings, had gathered 
round the group. 

Still apparently good-humoured, and perfectly self- 
possessed, the old man addressed the assembly. In 
a few well -chosen words of quiet, manly dignity, 
he told them that this young gentleman — putting a 
peculiarly scornful emphasis on the word — had asked 
him to administer the sacrament of baptism, and as a 
humble minister of the Scottish Church he felt no 
hesitation in complying with the request. ' But,' said 
he, ' it must be done according to the formulas of that 
Church, and I will accordingly invite you to accompany 
me in prayer,' Then baring his venerable head, while 
his silver hair streamed in .the breeze, he offered up an 
eloquent petition ; and being a man of rare eloquence 
and fervour, he administered a scathing rebuke to the 
scoffers and completely subdued the feelings of all 
around. 

Next, with a proud glance, and in ringing accents, in 
which those who knew him best might have detected a 
lurking trace of grim, defiant humour, he asked the rather 
chapf alien and now hesitating scoffer to 'stand forward.' 
The magnetic force of the old apostle compelled instant 
obedience. 

Addressing him in crisp, clear-cut tones, he said, with 
a sharp Highland accent : — 

' Now, sir ! you want your puppy dog bapteezed ? 
Well, sir, I can only, as I have said, perform the cere- 
monj^ in accordance with the regulations and formulas 
of the Scottish Presbyterian Church of which I am but 
a humble and unworthy minister. In accordance with 
our custom it is necessary that I should ask you a 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 61 

question.' (There was a movement of interested ex- 
pectation among the audience, and the culprit in the 
midst wriggled rather uneasily.) 'Hold up your 
puppy dog, sir.' There was something in the stern 
command which permitted of no refusal. 

Clear and ringing now swelled the voice of the old 
minister, as amid the wonderment of the gaping 
crowd, quickly to be followed by peals of laughter, he 
thundered at the head of the abashed and disconcerted 
fop : ' Now, sir ! will you swear in the face of God and 
of this congregation that you are the father of this 
puppy dog?' 

The ' biter was bit,' and for the rest of the voyage 
the crestfallen Cockneys gave the Scottish clergy a very 
wide berth indeed. 

As showing the homely familiarity which the friendly 
footing between pastor and flock engendered,- and the 
quaintness of some of the pulpit utterances occasionally 
one comes across, in pursuing this course of inquiry, I 
am tempted to chronicle an incident told of the minister 
of Birse, the Rev. Joseph Smith. He was rather a 
quick-tempered but a kindly man ; and one hot, close, 
muggy Sunday he had to undergo an incessant accom- 
paniment to the delivery of his sermon, of a rap-rap-rap, 
tap-tap-tapping on the lids of the snuff-boxes, with one 
of which it would have seemed nearly every male wor- 
shipper in the congregation was provided. Nor was 
this all. The snuff-takers did not assimilate the titil- 
latory and fragrant powder a la Versailles, but with a 
directness and energy, accompanied by snorting, in- 
halatory sounds — if that be a permissible expression — 
which filled the sacred building with reverberations, 



62 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

and almost drowned the voice of the preacher. His 
irritated nerves could stand the maddening strain no 
longer. Suddenly he paused ; and then he abashed the 
noisy votaries of the pungent weed by saying in his 
severest and most indignant manner : ' My freens ! 
it would be a blessin' to me, an' I'm sure a blessin' 
to yersel's, if ye wad leave a' yer sneeshin' mulls at 
hame.' 

As an instance of that theological dogma which 
Burns describes as 

... a hangman's whip, 
I might instance the following. 

A boy belonging to Leochel-Cushnie was apprenticed 
to a joiner at Fettercairn, and one day had been sent to 
the ironmonger's to buy a pund o' nails. The minister 
happened to be in the shop, and the following dialogue 
took place. 

Boy. I want a pund o' nails. 

Ironmonger. Oh, ye want a pund o' nails, div ye ^ 
Ye'll be a strainger tae Fettercairn, ah'm thinkin'? 
Whaur div ye come frae 1 

Boy. Frae Leochel-Cushnie. 

Minister (in a deep grave voice). Ay, ye come frae 
Leochel-Cushnie, div ye ? Are there mony that fear 
the Lord in Leochel-Cushnie, na ? 

Boy. I dinna ken, sir ; but there's a gey pucklie o's 
richt feared at the deil. 

Many good stories are told of that famous but ec- 
centric divine the Eev. Walter Dunlop of Dumfries, 
better known by the affectionately-meant familiarity of 
' Wattie Dunlop.' He said one evening by way of 
homely warning at a service largely attended by young 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 63 

women : ' A' you young men an' young wimmen, jist 
gang straucht hame and read yer Bibles, for remember 
Judas betrayed oor Saviour wi' a kiss.' 

One of the best-known instances of his ready wit is, 
of course, that retort to the three would-be clever cits, 
who, thinking to make fun of the parson, asked him if 
he had heard the news. ' What news 1 ' said the un- 
suspecting Wattie. ' Oh, the deil's deid.' ' Ah, in that 
case,' instantly responded the old man, with a roguish 
twinkle in his eye, ' I maun e'en pray for three 
faitherless bairns.' 

An old minister in the same county, Dumfries, was 
much annoyed by one of his hearers, a great theologian 
in his own opinion, who always would insist upon him 
deducing ' doctrines ' from all his texts, as well as the 
usual 'heads' and 'particulars.' One day he was pro- 
voked to protest, and said to his troublesome friend : — 

' But, John, ye canna deduce a doctrine from every 
text.' 

' I wad like to hear yin that I cudna deduce a doc- 
trine frae ! ' replied John, very bumptiously. 

' Well, now, what doctrine would you deduce frae 
this text, John'? "Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but 
who art thou 1 " ' 

John's reply has not been chronicled. 

Of a somewhat similar character is my next. The 
theologian this time, however, was an old wifie who, 
discussing matters with her minister one day, said : 
' Toots, minister, ye mak' a great fash aboot preachin' 
twa bits o' sermons ; od onybody cud dae that ; hech, 
I wad undertak' that masel' ! ' 

'Well now, Jenny,' good-humouredly replied the 



64 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

minister, ' 111 just gie ye a text, an' see what ye'll mak' 
o't ; an' it's this : " It is better to dwell in a corner of 
the house-top, than with a brawling woman, and in a 
wide house." ' 

' What do ye mean, minister "? ' said Jenny, instantly 
bridling up ; 'do ye mean ony thing personal 1 ' 

' Ah,' laughed the minister, ' ye wad never do for a 
preacher.' 

' An' what for no, sir 1 ' 

' Oh, you come ower sune to the application.' 

Away up in the north there was a parish minister 
who was notoriously the prosiest and dullest of preachers, 
but who was a fine character and a good pastor. One 
day a cattle-dealer met him in the train, on his way to a 
near market, after having heard something derogatory 
to the powers of the minister as a preacher. Wishing 
to pay his favourite a compliment, he said : ' Weel, 

Dr. , they may say what they like, but ye're the 

finest man in a' the pairishes roond aboot ; and ' — with 
fine scorn — ' efter a's said an' dune, wha cares for 
preachin', man 1 ' 

The Rev. Mr. Haldane, on his first visit to Scotland, 
was a guest of the Earl of Kintore, and preached for 
the first time in his life to a Presbyterian congregation. 
Having ministered most of his time in Cornwall, where 
the people are most demonstrative, he was chilled by 
the aspect of the congregation. Do what he could, he 
could rouse no responsive emotion, and the people while 
looking and listening attentively, seemed utterly cold 
and impassive. He felt much discouraged, but on his 
way home, in company with the Earl, they overtook an 
old Scotch bodie creeping home to her humble cottage. 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 65 

The Earl spoke to her a few kind words, and she said 
in her earnest, homely way : ' Eh, sir, but I wis 
dreidfu' weel pleased wi' yer Englishman the day ! ' 

This comforted and encouraged Mr. Haldane much, 
and gave him an insight into a phase of character he 
had not before been familiar with. But how thoroughly 
Scottish ! 

Not so complimentary was that brilliant remark of 
the elder who had been chosen as spokesman by a depu- 
tation to make some presentation or other to their 
minister in token of their regard. After stammering 
confusedly through various bald platitudes, and wishing 
in his peroration to be particularly impressive and elo- 
quent, he said : ' In short, sir, to use the bewtifu' wirds 
o' Scripter, you are, sir, in truth, a soondin' bress an' a 
tinklin' cymbal ! ' 

Not less ridiculous was the lapsus of the reverend 
lecturer who, dilating on the evils of intemperance, and 
wishing to say that ' Drink was bad for both soul and 
body,' convulsed his audience by saying : ' It's bad, ma 
freens, for baith bowl and soddy ' ; but fairly brought the 
house down when, in attempting to correct himself he 
said : ' Tuts, I mean soddy an' bowl.' 

The following witty equivoque is told of the venerable 
Dr. Eadie of Glasgow. He was called one evening 
to the house of one of his parishioners to baptize ' a bit 
bairnie,' and among the witnesses to the ceremony was 
a crotchety, officious, old maiden lady who had deter- 
mined in her own mind she would take advantage of the 
opportunity to ' speir ' at the doctor when he was likely 
to finish with a rather prolonged course of lectures he had 
been giving on the subject of 'The Power of the Spirit' 

F 



66 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

Accordingly after the christening, and when the usual 
hospitahty common to such occasions was being exercised, 
the old lady sidled up to and somewhat imperiously 
addressed the doctor in these words : ' Ay, doctor, an' 
whan are ye gaun tae be dune wi' the Speerit, naT 
The old doctor seizing the decanter which was within 
reach, and purposely misapprehending her, rejoined 
very coolly : ' Hoots, wumman, it'll stan' anither roond 
yet brawly.' 

Of Patrick Eobertson of Craigdam, a well-known 
evangelist, a good story is told, which may appro- 
priately be introduced here. 

Going home one night, he spied a drunken man 
prostrate in the gutter, and under the impulse of his 
natural kindliness, not knowing at the moment but what 
the poor man might be ill or even dying, he raised him 
up. The presumably worthy object of this solicitude, 
however, soon revealed the real cause of his prostration. 
Glowering up at his ' Good Samaritan ' with bloodshot 
eyes, and recognising the features of the eloquent 
evangelist, he hiccuped out : — 

' Eh, Maister Eobertson, is that you ? Losh, man (hie), 
d'ye no ken (hie) I wis ane o' yer first convairts ? ' 

'Ay,' says Patrick dryly, and with a significant 
shake of the head, ' vera like my handiwark ! ' 

An old minister tells this story of a Sunday School 
experience. The teacher had been reading the portion 
about 'praying for one's enemies, and doing good to 
those that despitefully use you,' etc. Desirous of seeing 
whether the boys really understood what 'enemy ' meant, 
he began to illustrate acts of friendship, detailed acts of 
kindness, and so on, and then asked the class if they 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 67 

could name any one who was their 'friend.' Out went 
the little hands, and he appealed to one bright little 
fellow, who promptly replied by saying, 'Ma Uncle.' 
'Quite right,' said the teacher. Next he began to 
expatiate on acts of hostility, unkindness, and so forth, 
and seeing an unwonted look of intelligence on the face 
of a poor suppressed sort of a neglected waif, named 
'Dunkie Demster,' he asked: 'Now can any of you, if 
you have such a thing, name me an enemy 1 ' 

Out went poor little Dunkie's emaciated little orphan 
hand and arm. 

' Well, Dunkie, who is your enemy 1 ' 

'Ma Auntie,' was the tearful answer. 

Alas ! what an innocent, unconscious disclosure of 
cruel neglect, and the pitiless blighting of a young child's 
budding affection, was contained in the artless and 
pathetic reply. 

An example of pawky, clerical wit, is the following : — 

An old farmer in the parish was about to be married 
the second time. His bride-elect had been his house- 
keeper. She was credited with a shrewish disposition, 
was at all events a woman of no refinement, and she 
simply detested the minister, who in some way or other 
had managed to incur her active dislike. The farmer, 
however, had completely fallen under her influence, and 
she, seeing the approach of her clerical bete noire, told the 
poor farmer that he was ' not to ask that man intill the 
hoose.' The poor man scarcely knew how to account 
for his lack of customary hospitality, but he lamely 
excused himself to the ready-witted and shrewdly- 
observant minister by saying : ' I'll no be askin' ye inbye 
the day, sir, for ye see I'm aboot tae be marriet again, an' 



68 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

we wis jist haein' the hoose pentit ' (the usual Scottish 
pronunciation of ' paint ' is ' pent '). ' Ah, Eobert,' said 
the waggish minister, ' I houp ye'll no vera sune hae to 
Ee-pent it.' 

But perhaps no better instance of good classic clerical 
wit has ever been recorded, than the following. I do 
not myself remember to have seen it in print, but I can 
scarcely venture to hope that it is new to all my readers. 

The dominie had taken to absent himself from church, 
and being accidentally met by the minister was pressed 
to give some reason for his abstention from ordinances. 
The minister, douce man, had a pretty shrewd suspicion 
what way the dominie's proclivities had been going of 
late, from certain rumours that had reached his ears. 
However, the dominie's excuse was the plea that ' he was 
always so wearied on the Sunday mornings, that he 
always slept in.' 

'Ay, an' what div ye do with yoursel' on the 
Saturdays, then?' 

'Oh,' was the plausible answer, 'we hiv startit a 
leeterary club, ye see, an' we meet at ilk ither's hooses, 
an' — an' — we hiv a little whisky an' discussion, read an 
essay, an' so on.' 

'Ah,' said the pawky pastor, 'an' I've nae doot Esse 
has the same case efter it that it has before it.' 

One more instance of the many-sidedness of the old- 
time minister, and the keen, vital interest he took in all 
popular and current movements, while it also illustrates 
the simplicity of the women-folks in regard to politics, 
is as follows : — 

At an election for East Aberdeen on one occasion, 
Hope of Fentonbarns was a candidate. Mr. Hope was by 



MINISTER AND PEOPLE 69 

belief a Unitarian, and it is just possible that the then 
parish minister took rather an active part in canvassing 
for Mr. Hope's opponent who, it may not be unfair to 
assume, was more orthodox. One farmer who was a 
regular attendant at church had pledged himself to vote 
for Mr. Hope, and the minister took occasion to call, in 
hopes of getting the pledge recalled. Notwithstanding 
all his persuasions and blandishments, his arguments and 
protestations, however, he could not get the sturdy 
yeoman to change his mind. 

'Aweel, aweel,' at length said the astute cleric, 'jist 
lat's pray for guidance.' So they prayed. When they had 
risen from their knees the farmer's wife said : ' Noo, John, 
ye can shairly never vote for Fentonbarns efter sic a 
bee-yow-ti-fu' prayer as that ! ' rolling the adjective over 
her tongue in an ecstasy of appreciation. The result is 
not chronicled, but I venture to think Mr. Hope got the 
stalwart and loyal farmer's vote, in spite of both mini- 
sterial and conjugal influence. 

A good story is told of Dr. Lindsay Alexander's old 
beadle. The doctor was one of the most famous and 
eloquent preachers of the Independent or Congregational 
body, and ahvays attracted large audiences of casual 
hearers. A certain Sunday had been set apart to make 
a collection on behalf of some special object, outside the 
immediate personal church concern. The deacons had 
met in the vestry to arrange the matter, and the old 
beadle was busy about the fireplace cleaning it up. A 
discussion arose about the best time for taking up the 
collection — whether it should be in the morning or 
at the evenino' ser\dce. Several were for evenino; 
service, but the doctor himself thought the forenoon 



■70 MINISTER AND PEOPLE 

service would be best. He was in a minority, however, 
and the deacons had decided for evening, when the old 
beadle effected a striking diversion, by suddenly inter- 
posing with a very emphatic commentary. He said : 
'Ye're quite richt, doctor, quite richt to hae't i' the 
mornin', for whae'll ye get i' the evenin' ? Jist a wheen 
Presbyterians, an' they're only worth about 3d. a dizzen.' 



CHAPTER Y 

PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

A defiant precentor — The old style of psalmody — A precentor's 
paradox — A parody of the old metre — Examples of the old, 
wooden, halting measure — A saintly minister's defence of the 
old style — The old conservatism — Examples — Dr. Roxburgh's 
story — A competitive breakdown — Rural high notes — Question- 
able punctuation — A self-possessed cantor — 'The Stickit Pre- 
centor ' — A ludicrous paraphrase — Auld Chairlie Broon — Stories 
from the Brechin Advertiser — The other side of the shield — 
Opinions of Burns and Sir Walter Scott. 

From the pulpit to the precentor's desk is an easy 
gradation, and I am reminded of the anecdote of a 
precentor who had a very wholesome horror of the fierce^ 
imprecatory psalms, that some of the older generation 
loved to roll as a sweet morsel under their tongues. The 
minister was of the stern, protesting, Puritan type, and in 
these fiery outpourings of the old Jewish patriotic spirit 
he no doubt saw personified in his own mind the particular 
individuals within his own ken who dared to hold theo- 
logical opinions diff'erent to his own. So he had given out 
the psalm and had read with great unction and fervour : — 

His children let be vagabonds. 
His wife a widow make, etc. 



72 PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

With a defiant toss of the head the more humane precentor 
uttered a practical protest, by singing out in stentorian 

tones : — 

God's mercies I will ever sing, etc. 

To their credit the congregation, whose practice, as was 
not uncommonly the case, was gentler than their creed, 
most heartily followed the precentor, much, no doubt, to 
the stern, old, Calvinistic minister's chagrin. 

What a tribute to the sheer dourness and dogged 
thrawnness of the Scottish character, has been the persist- 
ence with which they have clung to those in large part 
most wooden and prosaic versions of the psalms which, 
with unconscious irony, they call metrical. The Sternhold 
and Hopkins, the Tate and Brady style of metrical 
architecture, is surely the most wattle and dab, lob-sided 
and inartistic jumble of halting numbers that has been 
perpetrated in the whole range of literature. How the 
noble imagery, the lofty and sublime diction of these 
inspired Hebrew singers has suffered at the hands of 
these most prosaic and unimaginative ' mud-daubers,' as 
Mark Twain would call them ! Take, for instance, the 
rendering of the fine oriental figure of speech, ' As he 
clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment,' 
etc. It is thus caricatured : — 

As cursing he like clothes put on, 

Into his bowels so, 
Like water, and into his bones, 

Like oil, down let it go. 

No doubt by sheer force of association, and the in- 
tense fervour of the faith of the old Scottish people, 
which associated with these abortive parodies, their 
revolt against liturgy and ritual, and the proud asser- 



PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 73 

tion of their own independence of thought and free right 
of private judgment, the old metrical version of the 
Psalms possessed charms to the older folk, which we 
of the younger generation may not perhaps perceive. 
Still, even the old folks are beginning now to ' thole ' the 
chants and renderings of the grand old psalms in their 
original setting ; and the more frequent use of our rich, 
poetic hymnal, and appreciation of its beauties, is a 
grateful and encouraging feature in the gradual evolu- 
tion of a better service of the sanctuary so far as praise 
is concerned, which is fast supplanting the old, bare, 
ugly, unyielding type. 

It used to be positively painful, even to my young, 
untrained ear, to hear the mechanical, wooden way in 
which some country tyke of a precentor used to murder 
the magnificent ideas enshrined in the grand old psalms, 
and which even the most mechanical versifiers could not 
wholly destroy. 

One illustration of how a neglect of ordinary punctua- 
tion used to mix the meaning and confound the sense, 
comes to me as I write. The passage properly rendered 
reads thus : ' The Lord will come, and He will not keep 
silence, but speak out,' etc. Reading it line by line, in 
a high, nasal, snufiling drawl, our precentor used to 
bellow forth : — 

The Loard wull come an' he wull not — 

This would be sung in every variety of time, and with 
every latitude as to tune and ' curlie-wurlie quavers.' 
Then came the completion of the paradox — 

Keep silence, but speak out. 

Of course the utter ugliness and naked stupidity of 



74 PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

some of the worst examples, gave an opening which the 
irreverent and the scoffers were not slow to accept. 
Parodies of an unpardonable kind were rife among the 
rude, bothy hands, many of which are perfectly unread- 
able ; but here is one which is not so bad, as it contains 
a certain ironical humour of its own. Eendered in the 
old style by a jovial company, line by line, and to the 
accompaniment of one of the old, quavery, minor, 
drawling tunes, the effect is irresistibly ludicrous : — 

Thee langer that a Ploom-tree grows, 

Thee blacker grows thee Ploom ; 
Thee langer that a Souter shoos [sews], 

Thee blacker grows his thoom. 

Hech, sirs, we had muckle to thole wi' thae auld- 
farrant and most unmelodious compositions. I, for one, 
dinna want to revert to the old order, in that particular 
at least. 

It was Dean Stanley, I think, who used to call Tate 
and Brady's version not the Psalter but the ' drysalter ' — 
and dry enough it certainly was. What, for instance, 
could be finer by way of antithesis, and from merely a 
literary point of view, than the picture drawn by the 
inspired songster of the uprearing of the old temple, 
when all ranks and classes vied with each other in 
rendering willing service towards supplying materials 
for the erection of the national sacred shrine'? Then 
with what a fine burst of poetic fervour he depicts the 
rage of the invading and alien iconoclasts, wrecking the 
sanctuary in their hate and fury ; ruining the fine 
carved -work on which such reverent care had been 
expended ; tearing down the rich hangings, and dese- 
crating the very Holy of Holies. One can almost fancy 



PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 75 

they hear the great heart-sob of a nation's agony and 
shame, as the Psalmist laments over the sacrilegious and 
humiliating outrage. 

But what do these prosaic rhymsters, who are answer- 
able for the Scottish version, make of the picture 1 Can 
any one imagine anything so halting, so uncouth, so utterly 
devoid of imagination or poetic feeling 1 Think of it being 
drawled at funereal pace, in long-drawn nasal wailings, 
such as would have put a broken-winded bagpipe to 
shame, and you will have some faint idea of what our 
grandfathers no doubt considered the very sublimated 
essence of exalted praise. You must try to imagine 
it being sung in the old style to one of the 'curlie-wurlie' 
tunes. The precentor probably a note or so above the 
congregation, and either a yard ahead or behind it. 
Some fine, independent- souled possessor of a piping 
treble, or a basso tremolo, determined, even in the 
'sacrifice of praise,' to show his right of private judgment, 
is probably nearly a line behind everybody else. And 
at the end of the verse, a few scattered solos from various 
parts of the church roll their quavering volume in 
melancholy procession and mixed pattern down the 
aisle. Oh, it was awful ! The pronunciation, too, was 
of the same independent and archaic pattern, and the 
tunes were composed so as to give the full value of each 
syllable. If spelling can give any idea of how the 
psalmody was conducted, it was something like this : — 

A-mndst thy Coan-gree-gaa-she-oans 

Thine enneemees do-o-o-o roar ; 
Their ennsigns they set up for signs 

Oaf treeiumph thee-e-e-e-e befoar. 

But this is the bright, particular gem : — 



76 PEEGENTORS AND PSALMODY 

A maan waas faamous, and waas haad 

In ees-steem-aaa-shee-oan, 
Accordin' as he lufted up 

His aaxe thick trees upon. 

Just think of the utter parody of the splendid poetic 
idea that these wooden, jolting lines suggest. 

Or to give only one more sample of this archaic, 
almost barbarous style, let me just cite one verse which 
is given me as from the famous ' Zachary Boyd ' version, 
written, presumably, with the laudable intention of 
bringing the Bible story down to the level of the meanest 
comprehension. A historic fact is thus rendered : — 

Jaacob hed a fav'rite son, 

Caa'ed by his brethren Josey ; 
The pawtriarch made a tartan coat 

For tae keep him warm an' cosy. 

Now I would not for the world write anything that 
would seem irreverent, or would wilfully hurt the feelings 
even of the most sensitive, but I have had it in me to 
make my protest, and, after all, my feelings are shared 
by nearly every one of my own generation to whom I 
have ever spoken on the subject. I remember only one 
exception. He was my own cousin, the Eev. Lindsay 
Mackie, of the New High Church, Dunedin, N.Z. He 
was, I think, one of the saintliest men I have ever been 
privileged to know. The pure, radiant spirit within, 
shone through the weak veil of flesh, and he was simply 
beloved by every one who came within the gently com- 
pulsive spiritual power of his personality. He was our 
loved and honoured guest for a few of the last weeks 
of his stay on earth, and we had many pleasant talks 
together on this and cognate subjects. He had an 
intense love for the old metrical psalms, but when one 



PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 11 

probed and analysed the feeling, even he himself had to 
confess that it was all, or nearly all, due to the power of 
association. It was because he had learned them at his 
loved mother's knee principally, I think, that they so 
commended themselves to him. He could not with any 
great heart defend the metre or the setting of the noble 
ideas, and I noted that in his reading he always fell back 
with apparent relief to the much more poetic rendering 
of the prose version. 

Well, we are a persistent race, and in some things — 
chiefly those that concern the emotions and round which 
sentiment has gathered — we are about the most unyield- 
ing conservatives among Western peoples ; but I am glad 
to see the change that has come over the service of praise, 
and the use of music and poetry in the public worship of 
Christian people since I was a boy, and I would not now 
be content to revert to the old order. 

As an instance of the hidebound, obstinate, old con- 
servatism, the dogged unwillingness to accept any 
innovation, no matter how reasonable, I think the 
following is very characteristic. 

An evangelistic meeting was being organised in 
an Aberdeenshire parish, at which the conductors 
wished to introduce a few hymns, which at that time 
were quite a novelty and considered by some an ungodly 
innovation. Printed papers containing the hymns had 
been circulated among the worshippers, but they had 
been accepted with an icy frigidity and a suspicious sort 
of thrawn aversion. As soon as the first hymn was given 
out, a voice from the audience cried out in the broadest 
vernacular : ' Fat's wrang wi' the Psawlms o' Dauvit 1 ' 

Another illustration of the same feeling is as follows : — 



78 PREGENT0R8 AND PSALMODY 

In a drowsy parish not very far from Lochnagar, a 
new precentor strove to raise the standard of the old 
drawling, slovenly psalmody, by introducing newer and 
livelier tunes, and organising among the younger mem- 
bers of the congregation, an effective choir. The innova- 
tion was looked on with sour disfavour by the elders and 
the minister, who was one of the old unjdelding school. 
One morning the precentor and choir had sung the 
portion of psalm given out, to one of the new tunes, in 
which, either from inability or perverseness, not any of 
the congregation had joined. The rugged old minister 
after it was finished rose, and said with cutting sarcasm : 
* The precentor and his choir having sung, nae doot, to 
their ain satisfaction, let us, ma freens' (laying tremendous 
emphasis on the us), ' now unite in singing to the praise 
and glory of God in the Hundert Psawlm.' 

The E,ev. Narayan Shashadri, an Indian native 
missionary, who visited Scotland some time ago, 
gave a friend of mine a striking instance of this same 
feeling — this dogged aversion to change. He had been 
speaking on this very subject to a good old Scottish 
elder, telling him the natives of India could really never 
derive any spiritual good from such objectionable metre, 
judged from a modern literary standpoint ; and he very 
frankly confessed his own preference for hymns. The 
old fellow slowly shook his head, pursed up his lips, and 
a dogged look came into his eyes, as he said rather 
ungraciously, but very emphatically: ' Humph ! Dauvit's 
no deid yet, for a' that ! ' 

The late Dr. Eoxburgh of Free St. John's, Glasgov/, 
used to tell a most ludicrous story of a hot-tempered 
man named Andrew Bell, who sat prettj^ far back in the 



PBEGENTORS AND PSALMODY 79 

gallery. One Sabbath it would seem he had been 
offering some sweeties to two young women between 
whom he had got seated, and he had not perhaps been 
very attentive to the minister's intimation of the Psalm. 
Psalm 45th and 9th had been given out — 

Among thy women hon'rable 

Kings' daughters were at hand ; 
Upon thy right hand did the queen 

In gold of Ophir stand. 

But it was when the precentor, who in his private 
capacity was a spindle-shanked tailor, began in his broad, 
drawling Doric to read out line by line, as was then the 
custom, that Andrew's face began to grow red, and a 
sulky look to come into his eyes ; and no wonder, for 
this is exactly how the first line sounded as the precentor 

intoned it : — 

Amang thy weemen Aun'ra Bell ! 

The people sitting around tittered, and the lassies 
tittered, but Aun'ra looked wrathful. After service he 
interviewed the precentor, clutched him by the lugs, and 
as he ' dauded ' his head on the wall he hissed out with 
concentrated fury : ' That's tae ye, an' that's tae ye, for 
pintin' me oot amang the weemen ! ' 

My hearty, hospitable, and humorous friend of G-eorge 
Square, Edinburgh, several of whose contributions I have 
already given, narrates a most ludicrous episode, of which 
he and his wife were actual eye-witnesses, and which 
most graphically illustrates the old free-and-easy style 
of conducting this most important element in public 
worship. It was in a kirk in ' The Lothians,' presided 

over by the Eev. Dr. S , who was perhaps more 

of an antiquarian and geologist than an ecclesiastic ; 



80 PREGENTORS AND PSALMODY 

but on this particular occasion there happened to be in 
progress a contested election for the post of precentor. 
It had come to the turn of one candidate who evidently 
did not know the difference between long and short 
metre, or perhaps he simply had no long-metre tunes in 
his repertoire. At all events the reverend doctor gave 
out the 145th Psalm, second version, and somewhere 
near the end of the psalm. The precentor started with 
a short-metre tune, and of course managed the first and 
third lines all right. At the second and fourth lines, how- 
ever, the exigencies of the metre were too much for his 
melody ; but he was in no way abashed, and very coolly 
just left out the two extra syllables, and ignored them as 
if they were non-existent. When he came to the 20th 
verse he sang it thus (I leave out the two excised syllables 
at a little distance apart from the body of the verse) : — 

The Lord preserves all, more and less, 

That bear to him a lov ing heart : 

But workers all of wickedness 
Destroy will he, and clean subvert. 

When he came to ' clean ' it was too much even for the 
easy-going minister. Leaning over the pulpit, he tapped 
the songster on the head, and said : ' Sit doon, man ! sit 
doon ! that'll no dae ava'.' 

My friend also tells me a most ludicrous episode of 
which he too was an eye-witness. It happened in the 
parish church of Kirkmabreck, a secluded parish in Kirk- 
cudbrightshire, on the shores of Wigton Bay. Mr. I 

happened to be attending the church on this particular 
morning, and being a trained musician himself, and for 
more than thirty years past, a leading member of the 
choir in one of our prominent Edinburgh churches, he 



PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 81 

was at once conscious that the rural precentor had 
pitched the opening tune much too high, and was not a 
little curious and concerned to see how he would get out 
of the difficulty. With sublime unconcern, however, the 
singer held on ' the even tenor of his vfay,' and as soon as 
he came to a note that was fairly beyond his register, he 
simply looked up to the roof, set his mouth into the 
form the lips assume when one wishes to emit the soft 
whistle of surprise, and then with a sickly smile he 
would just go on as if he had some invisible choir behind 
him, who had taken up the high notes for him, and 
passed them safely into circulation. My friend added, 
' The whole thing was so irresistibly comic that I had 
to leave the building.' 

Another function of the precentor was analogous to 
that of the clerk in an English church, I suppose — that 
is, he had to make announcements if any one were ill, 
and in relation to matters of that sort — but even here it 
would seem there was the same sublime and wholesale 
disregard of the ordinary rules of punctuation — at 
least so we may judge from the famous and oft-quoted 
example, in which the precentor wishing, on behalf of a 
poor sailor's wife, to ask the prayers of the congregation 
for her husband, who was about to begin a long 
voyage, gave it out as if it read thus : ' A sailor 
going to see (sea) his wife, desires the prayers of the 
congregation.' 

Occasionally, however, the precentor proved himself 
quite equal to any emergency, and, as in the following 
case, showed admirable sang froid and imperturbable self- 
possession. It was a stranger minister who was occupy- 
ing the pulpit, and he gave out and read the 148th 

G 



82 PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

Psalm, second version, which is one of the few constructed 
on what is known as peculiar metre. It goes thus — 

The Lord of heaven confess, 
On high his glory raise, etc. 

The precentor was for the moment a little non- 
plussed, but in a few minutes his native good-sense and 
coolness came to his succour, and he solved the difficulty 
and relieved the suspense of the congregation by calmly 
saying : ' Ay, sirss, I've nae tune for this, so we'll jist 
sing the first vairshon.' 

Mr. G a distinguished student of St. Andrews, and 

who has since more than confirmed the promise of his 
student days by making a famous name for himself as a 
ripe scholar and litterateur, details a ludicrous episode of 
his college days, by which he earned the title of ' The 
Stickit Precentor.' He had gone to a meeting with a 
fine, earnest, young companion, who was doing a good 
work among the fisher folk, and who had pressed Mr. 

G into the service as he had a good voice. Mr. 

G willingly consented to do all he could in the way 

of starting the tune. A suitable psalm was accord- 
ingly given out, and quite forgetting the then usual 

custom of reading line by line, Mr. G started 

the tune, and imagined he had nothing but plain- 
sailing ahead of him. At the conclusion of the first 
line, however, and just as he was gathering breath 
for a continuation of the melody, a gruff voice at his 
elbow almost ' made his heart leap into his mouth,' 
and completely put all memory of the tune out of his 
head, by ejaculating : ' Young man, just read oot the 
seecont line ; I'm blin'.' G read the line, but for the 



PBEOENTOES AND PSALMODY 83 

life of him could not continue the tune, and that was 
the first and the last time he ever essayed the task of 
trying to be a precentor. 

Another ludicrous story in re the reading of the lines, 
is told of an absent-minded precentor, slightly dull of 
hearing, who had somehow failed to catch the opening 
intimation of the psalm, and, to make matters worse, 
had forgotten his spectacles. Trusting to memory, and 
to the minister reading the lines, he was, however, to all 
appearance, quite up to his usual pitch of proficiency. 
The minister read out very impressively — 

Like pelican in wilderness 
Forsaken I have been. 

The poor precentor, whose ornithological knowledge 
must have been sadly dubious, startled the congregation 
considerably, and awoke their sense of humour, by 
gravely taking up the response thus — 

A paitrick in a wild-deuk's nest, 
The like wis never seen ! 

I am told by my dear old aunt Margaret, the last 
surviving now of her generation, but as full as ever of 
the kindly humour and gentleness which have endeared 
her to three generations of kinsfolks and neighbours, 
that my grandfather had an oddity in the shape of a 
servant named Auld Chairlie Broon. Chairlie was the 
minister's man par excellence, and performed all the duties 
appertaining to that onerous office; but in addition, 
when my grandfather went over to Birse to hold an 
occasional service there, Chairlie was the vessel chosen 
to officiate as precentor. His repertoire being limited. 



84 PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

and knowing the value of hearty co-operation, and the 
device even of a notice-board not having been hit upon 
in that primitive community, Ohairlie used to walk up 
the aisle after the minister, and nudge the sitter at 
the end of each pew, notifying his tune to each, in some 
such fashion as this : ' Mawthers, billies, Mawthers,' 
which signified ' Martyrs, lads. Martyrs ! ' that being his 
favourite and almost only tune. 

I may dismiss the subject of precentors and psalmody 
fitly, however, by a short extract from a very interesting 
and readable article in that most ably conducted and 
always lively provincial journal, the Brechin Advertiser, 
which reached me after I had written this chapter. 
Among much that is capitally told, and was to me 
deeply interesting, the author of the article writes as 
follows : — 

' The length of the psalms often render curtailment 
necessary, and at the present day it is very seldom that 
a composition is sung without some verses being omitted. 
The longest of the translations is, as is well known, the 
1 1 9th. It is related of one minister that he once gave out 
this particular psalm, and then, without announcing how 
many stanzas were to be sung, sat down in the pulpit and 
fell asleep. The precentor, faithful to his duty, struggled 
bravely on until one hundred and twenty-two lines had 
been reached, when he sank exhausted. His heroism, 
however, did not go unrewarded ; he was known ever 
afterwards as "the leather -lunged precentor." [I am 
sorely afraid, however, this story is apocryphal.] 

'It was, possibly, the reward meted out to that 
musician which made his brother precentor call a halt 
at the fourth verse. The worthy divine, in intimating 



PREGENT0B8 AND PSALMODY 85 

the psalm, announced a portion (running to a rather 
large number of verses) to be sung. The "Master of the 
Song," however, considered the thing preposterous, and 
closed with the fourth stanza. The minister, noting the 
occurrence, leaned over the pulpit and remarked : " Man, 
Jamie, if ye mak' sic a wark aboot skirlin' oot four 
single verses, hoo d'ye think ye're to manage to sing 
psawms thro' a' the ages o' eternity ? " ' 

I am certainly free to confess, in summing up the 
matter, that amid much that is wooden and stilted, there 
are many noble verses, that rise to the height of true 
poetry, even in our Scottish metrical version. In the 
modern collection of Sacred Song, happily coming into 
almost general use in Presbyterian churches all the 
world over, and known as 'Church Praise,' there has 
been a most laudable attempt to winnow the chaff 
from the wheat and to exercise a judicious selection, 
although even in this, there are many that are 
namby-pamby and otherwise weak. The first fatal 
error seems to me to have been due to the old clinging 
idea, amounting almost to a superstitious sort of 
f etichism, that ' all Scripture ' was of equal spiritual 
value. So it was considered necessary that every scrap 
of the Jewish Psalter which, as most folks know now, is 
a collection of at least five books, written by numerous 
authors and covering a literary period of centuries, 
should be rendered into the metrical — shall I say tag- 
raggery \ that has so excited my possibly too outspoken 
disapproval. 

In common fairness, however, I should put on record, 
side by side with my adverse criticism, the fact that the 
old metrical version has afforded deep spiritual delight 



86 PRECENTORS AND PSALMODY 

to thousands of the noblest and saintliest of Scotia's 
sons. And indeed there are scattered, here and there 
through the collection, many gems of rare poetic merit. 
What, for instance, could be finer than the stately, 
solemn sweep of ' The Old Hundredth ' ? ' All people 
that on earth do dwell ' ; or that special favourite, wedded 
to the fine sonorous measure of ' French ' ? 'I to the 
hills will lift mine eyes ' ; or the grand Old 103rd? 'O 
thou my soul, bless God the Lord,' etc. ; and perhaps 
one of the most exalted of the whole, also wedded to a 
magnificent tune, ' Invocation ' ? ' send thy light forth 
and thy truth,' etc. 

Even Burns, whose wayward genius was not as a rule 
much influenced by pious emotions, gives a touching 
tribute to the old psalms in the memorable lines — 

"When noble ' Elgin ' beets the heav'nward flame. 
The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays. 

Sir Walter Scott, too, called for the Scottish version 
when on his deathbed, and his opinion of its merit and 
beauty is recorded in his Journal, and in his letter to, I 
think, Principal Baird, was it not ? when he was asked 
to assist in preparing a new version. 

Nor is his, the only name of note among the admirers 
of what I have found so little provocative of tender 
emotions, as compared with many of our ancient and 
modern hymns, but these honoured names may well be 
set off" against my possibly bad taste and unappreciative 
ear. 



CHAPTER VI 

KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

The old-time neglect — Modern changes — Slack trade for the sexton 
— 'Little daein' i' the yaird ' — Wounded vanity — 'A sair 
time ' — A philosophic widower — ' The cold grave ' — A 
phlegmatic pitman — ' Beelzebub's bosom ' — The Inverarity 
grave-digger — The sexton's grievance — ' Dangerous to meddle 
wi' the kirk' — The old-time callousness — 'A sair hoast' — 
'Thae Kidds' — A too rapid hearse — ' Steady wark' — 'A 
respeckfu' distance ' — A dry retort — A ' popular ' functionary 
— A story from Punch — Dr. Kidd and his beadle — The rival 
bells and betherals. 

Nothing perhaps illustrates more forcibly yet pleasingly 
the change in social custom during the present century, 
than the usages observed at funerals and in connection 
with bereavement, the care of cemeteries, and the various 
ceremonies and customs consequent on, and associated 
with, the last sad common lot of poor humanity. In 
former times public sentiment in regard to these matters 
was certainly at a very low pass. Indeed, it might with 
truth be said that sentiment in the modern sense appar- 
ently did not exist. Cemeteries were shunned as if they 
were plague-spots. The mural adornments — save the 
mark — were of the most repulsive and ugly character. 



88 KIBKYAIBDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

There was no attempt made to adorn the enclosure with 
flowers and shrubbery. The surrounding wall was 
generally a tumble-down, rickety structure, half hidden 
in rank nettles and docks, and the same rank, unsightly 
herbage ran riot all over the sacred enclosure. Possibly 
this callous, almost ostentatious, disregard of the com- 
monest sentiment for adornment, or even for cleanliness 
and neatness, was part of the austere Puritanic reaction 
against the excessive luxury and overdone ornamentation 
of monkish times, to which I have already alluded, when 
ritual, pomp, display, and mere formality, had almost 
smothered all spirituality out of worship. Be that as it 
may, it was undoubtedly a characteristic of the times 
of our grandfathers, this callous, seemingly hard, matter- 
of-fact, and certainly unlovely treatment of death and 
sepulture. Let any one compare the stories that are 
preserved in every collection of Scottish anecdote, bearing 
on this point, with the care and reverence and tender 
regard we bestow on our cemeteries, and manifest in 
connection with bereavement nowadays, and the com- 
parison is all in favour of the modern methods as against 
' the times of former years.' 

And if the popular sentiment was thus harsh and 
callous and cold-blooded, what must have been the 
mental attitude of the mere professional, the hireling, 
whose office it was to attend to the purely mechanical 
duties attendant on the disposal of the dead ? So it is 
that many of the stories about betherals and sextons, 
are of such a character that in the light of our humaner 
and more refined present-day sentiment, they appear 
almost incredibly cruel and cold-blooded. Funeral 
stories seem almost brutally irreverent and heartless. 



KIBKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 89 

and yet ever and anon a gleam of grim humour breaks 
through, which irresistibly betrays the peculiarly para- 
doxical side of the Scottish character, and makes these 
stories tell as in a photograph, the true minute elements 
and effects, which go to make up the complete picture of 
the complex character of the old-time Scot. In this, as 
in most things else, example has been found better than 
precept. Sweet and gentle natures had mourned over 
the slovenliness and ugliness of the old rdgime ; fiery- 
tongued ' sons of thunder ' had denounced the blemish 
from many a pulpit; pamphleteers and pressmen had 
lampooned and satirised and tongue-lashed the hoary 
iniquity ; but still the nettle and the dock held possession 
of the kirkyaird, and the sexton and undertaker between 
them, outraged all decency in their treatment of the 
dead, and added ' burdens grievous to be borne ' to the 
already sad load which weighed down the weary heart 
of the lonely and the bereaved. Gray in his Elegy spoke 
truly when he described the churchyard as 'this neglected 
spot.' 

Slowly reforms, however, made their way. Hand in 
hand with municipal and sanitary reforms, improvements 
in the disposition and laying out of cemeteries became 
increasingly manifest. As is customary, the old abuses 
lingered longest in the rural districts ; but even here, 
let any one remember or look back, as I can do, to what 
the ordinary parish kirkyard was some forty years ago, 
and see what the same solemn spot is now. Instead of 
rank vegetation and the abomination of callous neglect, 
there are trim paths, close -cut sward, the exquisite 
glow of flowers, and the sweet, solemn shade of suitable 
foliage, to say nothing of the artistic monuments and 



90 KIBKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

the simple, tasteful headstones ; and though there is still 
much room for improvement, one cannot fail to note 
the wondrous change that has made almost all things 
connected with our burial customs new and better. 

A story which ' went the rounds ' some time ago 
about the Inverarity grave-digger's wife serves to 
illustrate some of the points I have just touched upon. 
The minister had called in to see the sexton, but he 
happened to be away from home. The wife was there, 
but she looked very sad and depressed. Asked if there 
was anything the matter, she answered 'No, 'but with such 
a heavy sigh and woe-begone expression that the kindly 
man pressed his inquiry, and insisted on knowing the 
trouble that was so evidently oppressing her. Was it 
' onything ado wi' the weans '? ' ' No, they were a' richt.' 
' Onything ado wi' John, then *? ' 

The poor wife, being quite won over by the sym- 
pathy which was so rare yet so softening, was at 
length induced to unburden herself. In quite a burst 
of confidence she disclosed the source of her discomfort 
by saying :— 

' Weel, ye see, minister, there's been sae michty little 
daein' i' the yaird lately ' (referring to the. unpardon- 
able healthiness and longevity of the people) 'that 
John's clean doon-herted. Wad ye beleeve it, sir, he's 
berrit naethin' for the lest sax weeks but joost a wee 
bit scart o' a wean 1 ' 

Some time afterwards a worthy leather merchant of 
Edinburgh happened during a business tour to call on 
the 'betheral' of, let us say, Crossmyloof, who was by 
trade a shoemaker. My friend had booked his order (I 
had the story from his own lips), and over the mild 



I 



KIBKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 91 

refreshment with which they were seahng the compact, 
he said jocularly, referring to the above story : — 

' Aweel ! is there onythin' daein' i' the yaird the noo 1 ' 

' No, man ! naethin' ava' ! ' 

' What ? No even the " scart o' a wean " 1 ' 

' No ! Not even that muckle ! ' 

' Toots, man ! ye maun be ahint the times. Ye 
canna be keepin' up yer style, I'm thinkin'. Ye see, 
a'body wants a iine-got-up kirkyaird noo, wi' flooers, 
an' graivel walks, an' gran' ornymints, so you may 
depend they're gaun past ye ! ' 

' No, no, min ! 'Deed no ! I assure ye we've dune 
a' that — an', 'deed, if they're no pleased wi' Crossmyloof, 
we can e'en tak' them past it in a new hearse, an' on 

tae ' (naming the next parish), ' if they maun hae a 

chainge.' 

How thoroughly Scottish ! What other people on the 
face of the earth would have managed to be jocularly 
pawky on such a subject 1 

A whimsical illustration of wounded vanity and 
pettishness comes to me from a Brechin correspondent. 
A leading member of a respected family in the 
Damacre Eoad had died, and through some inadvert- 
ence the members of one family of neighbours had 
not received the usual formal invitation to the funeral. 
This was resented bitterly as a deliberate social slight, 
and in confiding their trouble to the minister some time 
afterwards, one offended old lady of the family said : 

' Hech ! we wisna askit tae Mr. 's funeral ; but ne'er 

mind, sir, we'll hae a funeral o' oor ain some day, and 
then we'll ken fa tae speir.' 

Another is about a man who had lost three wives, 



92 KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

and was being made the subject of some commiseration 
by a friendly gentleman. He very quaintly expressed 
his sense of his losses, by saying querulously : ' 'Deed, 
sir, fat wi' the bringing o' them here, and the pittin' o' 
them awa', I've haen a sair time o't.' 

This recalls a somewhat similar anecdote told me by 
the Eev. A. Osborne, our much-esteemed neighbour for 
some years at Burwood, Sydney, N.S.W., and now the 
respected minister of Martyrs' Church, Dundee. He used 
to tell of an old Highland farmer, who at the burial of his 
first wife had had, with the mourners, to trudge a long 
distance through the heather, to the ancestral burying- 
ground on a sweltering hot day. What with the intense 
heat, their heavy burden, and the grief natural to the 
occasion, the poor man had narrowly escaped an attack 
of heat-apoplexy. Some years afterwards he had to 
perform a similarly mournful function on the occasion 
of the burial of his second wife ; but the physical con- 
ditions were entirely altered this time, as the ceremony 
had to be performed in the midst of a raging snow- 
storm, when the party of mourners had been nearly 
smothered in the drift, and almost paralysed by the 
icy grip of the terrific frost. The minister attempted 
some kindly consolation as the grave was being filled 
in, and said very syrapathisingly : ' Eeally, John, you 
have had more than the usual share of sorrow in your 
lot.' To which the philosophic widower replied : ' 'Deed, 
sir, ye may weel say that, for fat wi' bein' yae time near 
burnt up wi' the heat, an' the neist time nearly smored 
i' the snaw drift, I'm thinkin' if, I hae anither errent o' 
the kind, I'll hae tae treat masel' tae a hearse.' 

Yet another rather shocking story illustrative of this 



KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 93 

apparent callousness on the part of a bereaved husband, 
but which after all may have been the cool, philosophic 
way of making the best of a bad business, which is 
certainly part of the practical, matter-of-fact, Scottish 
character so frequently met with on the East Coast, 
may be given here. 

An old fisherman had lost his wife. She had long 
been ailing, and indeed at her best had never been a 
very sweet consort. Her death might therefore have 
been looked upon as a happy release for both parties ; 
but the minister, as in duty bound, felt it incumbent 
upon him to call on the bereaved one to offer the stereo- 
typed condolences. On the way he called in upon an 
old woman, and in the course of conversation stated that 
he was going up to see Sandie Gillespie to condole with 
him on the loss of his wife. 

* Hech ! ' said the old bodie with a snort of derision, 
'ye needna fash yersel', for, gin a' stories be true, 
Sandie's gaen tae be mairriet again almost immediately.' 

' Toots, havers, wumman ! ' said the minister. ' He 
surely cudna be sae far lost tae decency as that 1 Why, 
his wife canna be cauld in her grave yet ! ' 

'Aweel, meenister, that is jist fat I hear, onyw'y.' 
Away then sped the good minister on his kindly 
mission, and drawing near to Sandie's cottage he spied 
him sitting at the door mending his nets, and thus 
accosted him : — 

* Weel, Sandie, so poor Kirsty's gone.' 

'Ou ay, meenister,' responded the fisherman. 

* It'll be a sair loss tae ye, nae doot ? ' 

' Weel, I dinna ken,' said Sandie. ' She's maybe as 
weel awa'.' 



94 KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

The minister thought to himself that the bereavement 
was sitting very lightly on his phlegmatic friend, and 
having a slight feeling of indignation at the remarks he 
had heard, he said : — 

' Surely there can be no truth in what I have been 
hearing, that you're contemplating another marriage 
shortly ? ' 

' And fat for no, sir 1 ' 

'Why, bless me,' said the minister, 'you could surely 
never outrage public sentiment in this fashion ? You could 
not surely be so callous as to take to yourself another wife, 
while the mortal remains of your faithful companion for 
so many years are scarcely cold in the grave yet 1 ' 

' Och ! ' said Sandie, ' that disna bather me. Ye see, 
sir, I've made up ma mind. But I'll no be mairriet yet 
for anither fortnicht, an', in the meantime, ye ken, Kirsty 
can aye be coolin'.' 

But the same phlegmatic resignation (if such appa- 
rently heartless unconcern can be called by such a name) 
is evidently not altogether confined to Scotchmen, though 
it would seem to be a characteristic of the north-country 
folk, as the following Tyneside episode would seem to 
exemplify. A rough old tyke of a pitman had lost his 
bairn, and one of his mates had dropped in to condole 
with him, over a pot of beer. 

' Weel, Dan, so ye've lost wee Danny ! Weel, weel, 
he wis a bonnie baarn ! ' 

'Ay, George, laad, he wis a fine wean. Man, 
gin it hedna been agin' the laaws, me an' the mither 
wid a' hed 'im stuffed ! ' 

To modern sensibility such grim matter-of-factness, 
if I may coin the substantive, seems truly shocking. 



KIBKYAIBDS, 8EXT0N8, AND BURIALS 95 

and yet it was quite characteristic of the old-time pit 
folk. Indeed, I am not so very sure if they are much 
better even now. 

The same calmly philosophic attitude of mind, while 
betraying a somewhat dubious and mixed knowledge of 
Scripture character^, is evidenced by the next anecdote 
which comes uppermost. It was at a funeral in my 
native county. All the old gossips of the clachan had 
gathered in the house of mourning. Just as the coffin- 
lid was about to be screwed down, an officious old busy- 
body called out to the poor depressed father : — 

'Come awa', John Duthie, an' kiss yer deid baub; 
it's in Beelzebub's bosom noo.' 

' Na, na, 'umman ! ' interposed another beldam, wish- 
ing to show her superior knowledge, 'it's Awbraham's 
boasom.' 

' Oh, nivver mind, it mak's na. It's ami' them ! ' 
was the cool reply. (It makes no odds; it is among 
them ; it is one or the other.) 

I but now referred to the wife of the Inverarity 
sexton, but quite as characteristic an anecdote is told of 
the worthy man himself. 

It seems he had been waited upon by a neighbouring 
laird, who wanted to arrange for a plot in the church- 
yard, or as John thus put it — 

' Oh ay ! ye'll be wantin' a lair 1 ' 

'Yes; just so.' 

' Od, man, there's no mony left to wale noo.' 

' Hoo wad ye like tae lie, sir 1 ' 

'Well, John,' said the laird, amused and interested, 
'I'm no very parteeclar. There's nae rule in the 
maitter, is there ? ' 



96 KIBKYAIEDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

' Oh, nane ava'. Ilka ane can suit themsels. It's a' 
a maitter o' taste. There's oor lest minister ower there, 
for instance. He lies east an' wast. His wife lies 
here. She's nor' an' sooth. . Ay, ay, they wir coonter a' 
their days, an' they're coonter yet.' 

'But ye'll hae chosen a gude spot for yersel', 
John?' 

' Ou ay ! I'll be laid doon there, jist closs by the 
yett.' 

'But that's surely a rather exposed sort of place? 
What made ye choose that ? ' 

'Weel, ye see, sir, by a' accoonts, at the uprisin', 
there's like tae be a michty swatter o' fowk, an' if I lie 
here, I'll mebbe hae some chance o' gettin' oot afore the 
thrang.' 

The sexton was, indeed, a character of no little im- 
portance in the old Scottish rural economy, and he 
generally lost nothing by want of self -consciousness. It 
was his wont ' to magnify his office,' and not unfrequently 
he would sourly resent any interference by either session 
or minister, with what he chose to consider his exclusive 
domain and functions. One such had bitterly resented 
some fancied invasion of his rights and privileges by the 
minister, who, as it happened, was a preacher of the 
' gey dreich ' kind. At any rate, John was one day con- 
fiding his grievance to a sympathising friend, who, wish- 
ing to administer comfort, ventured to remark : ' Never 
mind, John, mebbe he'll get a call tae some ither 
pairish.' 'Na!' snapped out the 'man o' mools,' 'deil 
a call he'll get, till I get a grup o' him.' 

But even better than John's shrewd estimate of the 
minister's chances of preferment, was the smug estimate 



KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 97 

of his own importance, whicli is illustrated by the next 
on my list. 

He, too, was beadle and sexton, for pluralists were 
not unknown even in the days of old ; and like not a 
few modern pluralists both in church and state, he was 
rather 'a loose fish.' Multiplied official duties do not 
always mean added moral excellence. Well, at all 
events, John's peccadilloes had become so flagrant, that 
the session had felt it to be their painful duty to 
summon him before their august tribunal, and had there 
and then administered a rebuke of a length and severity 
commensurate with the heinousness of the offence, and 
the high official rank of the offender. You may depend 
upon it this was for long a 'fly in the ointment' of 
John's otherwise peaceful and uneventful career. 
Poor John thought he had lived down the painful 
episode ; but what merit was ever proof against ' envy, 
malice, and all uncharitableness ' ? One unlucky night, 
John found himself in the village 'cheenge hoose.' 
He got seduced into a heated argument with a scoff'er, 
'a Son of Belial,' and, sad to say, he lost his temper 
and misca'ed his opponent with much vigour. Natur- 
ally this led to reprisals, and what is called in the 
Mearns 'back-chat.' So it was not long ere John 
was twitted with a whole catalogue of carefully- 
treasured and well - remembered errors and delin- 
quencies. ' The unkindest cut of all ' was administered 
when the unblushing opponent hissed out : ' At ony 
rate ye canna say that ever / wis hed up afore the 
session.' But great natures rise to the emergency when 
the testing time comes. Suddenly John became 
bland, then a look of impressive dignity took the 

H 



J 



98 KIRKYAIRDS, S:EXT0NS, AND BURIALS 

place of passion, as he solemnly delivered judgment 
thus : ' Ay, ay, man ! nae doot. But ye see it's no sae 
safe mebbe tae meddle wi' the kirk as ye think. Man ! ' — 
then a solemn pause — 'Man, sin that day I've happit 
five o' them.' 

Dozens of instances might be adduced in proof of my 
assumption that we have gentler, humaner, and altogether 
more refined manners than were common, at all events 
among the common folks, some two or three genera- 
tions ago. For instance, it was not at all thought un- 
common or unfeeling for an affectionate daughter to say 
of an aged parent : ' Ay, his flannens are gettin' geyan 
frail; it's aboot time he wis deid.' 

Another instance too of dry, pawky humour on the 
part of one of these beadle folk may not inaptly come 
in here. 

Saunders was troubled with 'a sair hoast,' was, in 
fact, a victim to chronic asthma, and like another of the 
craft of whom I have spoken, he was not on very 
affectionate terms with his minister. One day while 
Saunders was digging a grave, the worthy clerical in- 
cumbent came up, and just then Saunders was seized 
with a violent paroxysm of coughing. He was forced 
for the moment to suspend operations, and as he was 
leaning on his spade wiping his eyes, the minister said : 
' That's a very bad cough you've got, Saunders ! ' ' Ay, 
it's no vera gude,' answered Saunders very dryly. ' Still 
there's a hantle fowk lyin' roon' aboot ye there, sir, that 
wud be gey gled to hae the like o't.' 

A curious instance of that tendency of habit and 
custom to blunt the feelings, and give a professional 
sort of twist to our way of looking at things, to which 



KIRKYAIBDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 99 

I have already referred, is the reply of the old sexton 
to a visitor who had entered into conversation with 
him about some of the inscriptions on the headstones. 
Noticing the weather-beaten appearance of the old man, 
the visitor, having been led into a sort of sadly reflec- 
tive train of thought, said : — 

' Ye'll have been a long time here, I daresay ? ' 

' Ou ay ! ' said the chirpy old gossip, ' I've been 
beadle and saxton here, for mae nor thretty years.' 

' Dear me ! what changes you must have seen ! I 
suppose, now, you must have buried at least one member 
or more out of every family in the parish in that time "? ' 

' Ay, gey near't. A' but yin.' This was said quite 
cheerily. Then, as if with a sense of some slight in- 
justice, and somewhat complainingly, he added : ' But 
there's thae Kidds, noo. They hivna sae muckle as 
brokken grund yet.' 

A much coarser instance of this almost brutal callous- 
ness, was told me by a friend who assured me he had him- 
self been present when it occurred. He gave me name 
and date ; but it may suffice that it was at a funeral in 
Rutherglen. The chief mourner was a very fat, short- 
winded man, not very refined, and they were burying 
his wife. It was a hot, dusty day, and the cortege had 
insensibly quickened its funereal pace after leaving the 
precincts of the town, and the hearse was now rolling 
along at an accelerated speed, much too quick for the 
corpulent and perspiring widower, who was pounding 
along, blowing and snorting like a grampus — wiping his 
bald head, and almost ' larding the lean earth ' as he 
walked. Even his fellow-mourners, with a sense of 
humour which could not be restrained, were disposed to 

L.ofC. 



100 KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

be decorously and slyly mirthful at his expense. At 
length he could stand the pace no longer. To a friend 
walking beside him, whose girth and condition were 
much akin to his own, he said savagely : ' Hech ! I'll 
sune stop this.' Then hailing the utterly oblivious and 
unconcerned driver of the hearse, he called out : ' Hi ! 

hi ! hi ! man ! What the your hurry ? D'y® think 

we stealt the corp 1 ' The Edinburgh folk dearly love to 
tell this story, as an instance of west country experience. 
Of course the decent Glesca bodies stigmatise it as 
viciously apocryphal. 

A good story is told in this connection, of the 
late Eev. Mr. Barty of Euthven. He was a fine 
specimen of the pawky, humorous, Scottish minister 
of the olden time. A vacancy had occurred in the 
office of sexton, and one Peter Hardie had made' 
application for the appointment. Euthven is a very 
small parish, consisting then, at all events, of only 
five farms. The rate per head having been duly 
fixed, and the minister and Peter having just about 
closed the agreement, Peter, with a keen eye to number 
one, ventured the query : ' But am I to get steady wark, 
sir ? ' ' Keep's a', Peter,' answered Mr, Barty, ' wi' steady 
wark ye'd bury a' the pairish in a fortnicht ! ' 

Of the beadle's sense of his own importance perhaps 
no more telling instance could be given, than that related 
by a well-known and eminent divine not so very long 
ago. He happened to be officiating for one of his 
clerical brethren^ and naturally felt somewhat diffident 
in a strange church. He had duly undergone the 
searching, and, as he fancied, somewhat sour scrutiny 
of the solemn old beadle, and as that important function- 



KIBKYAIEDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 101 

ary was about to leave the vestry with 'the books,' 
preparatory to placing them on the pulpit cushion, the 
preacher asked whether he should come on at once, or 
wait for a few further minutes. 

John was pleased to give his directions thus : — 

'Weel, sir, ye can jist follow at a respeckfu' 
distance.' 

This reminds me of yet another, in which the good 
old democratic spirit of sturdy independence as well as 
the dry, acrid, plain-spokenness of the Scot appears. 

A clergyman of notoriously unpunctual habits had 
made an engagement to supply the pulpit of a neigh- 
bouring parish. As usual with him, he arrived about 
ten minutes after the proper time, and bustling in, he said 
to the old beadle whom he found in the vestry : — • 

'Ah, Peter, I'm afraid I am late.' 

' Oh, nae waur than usual ! ' was the dry response. 

But perhaps one of the very best of the multitudes of 
beadle stories, is that in which the minister came off 
second best from the rencontre with his bibulous officer. 
Indeed these stories all have a family resemblance in 
this respect : it is generally the poor minister that gets 
the worst of it. The story goes, however, that on this 
occasion, John had been sent round the parish to dis- 
tribute 'The Monthly Visitor,' and returning from his 
perambulatory office, it became abundantly evident to 
even the most casual observer that the hospitality of the 
parish had been partaken of 'not wisely, but too well.' 
In fact, poor John, in a confused, obfuscated sort of way, 
seemed to be conscious of this himself, and he was 
endeavouring to slink into his usual quarters behind the 
manse, when, as ill luck would have it, he came full tilt 



102 KIBKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

against the minister himself, who had been to the back of 
the house to break up some kindling wood for the study fire. 
The worthy man was wroth. He had been out a dozen 
times looking for John, whose duty it was to provide 
fuel, as well as distribute tracts, dig graves, and do other 
odd jobs. John tried to assume an attitude and a look 
of dignified sobriety, but the unsteady gait and a most 
pestilent and ill-timed hiccup, betrayed his weakness. 
The wrathful cleric, finding his worst suspicions con- 
firmed, and mindful of half an hour's arduous and 
enforced toil with a blunt axe, which should have been 
part of John's heritage, at once opened out on the 
blinking, swaying tract-distributer, and treated him to a 
regular jobation. He was admonished in most minatory 
terms for showing such a pernicious example. He was 
reminded of his official position and what was due to 
that. He was preached at, and charged, and chidden, 
till at length the dourness and underlying thrawnness 
of his character was roused, and when at length the 
worthy minister had about exhausted the vials of his 
wrath, he again asked John what possible excuse he had 
to offer for the disgraceful state he appeared in. 

Amid intervening hiccups, John was understood very 
sulkily and somewhat defiantly to say, that acting on the 
mistress's instructions he had ' been taken frae his wark. 
It was nae job o' his seekin'. But he hed been roon' 
the pairish wi' the monthly tracks, and he micht mebbe 
confess till haein' hed a dram, or mebbe twa, but surely 
naething to mak' sic a michty wark aboot.' 

This lame and unsatisfactory defence with its under- 
note of defiance but added fuel to the minister's flaming 
indignation, and after another vigorous outburst he 



KIBKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 103 

wound up by saying it ' was a burning shame and a dis- 
grace to see a church-officer in such a state.' 

' Eoond the pairish, forsooth ! ' spluttered the in- 
dignant minister. ' Eoond the pairish ! That, sir, is but 
an aggravation of your offence. That, sir, but circulates 
the knowledge of your backsliding, and advertises and 
proclaims your wicked self-indulgence. Eoond the 
pairish, indeed. Ye see me gang roond the pairish often 
eneuch, but did ye ever see me come home in such a 
state 1 ' 

Eeally this was too much. John's patience was 
exhausted ; rebellion reigned ; prudence was stifled ; 
the old Adam raged. But just then the saving salt of 
native humour rushed to the rescue. Mastering the 
first defiant impulse, and with truly Scottish pawkiness, 
he made his protest thus : ' Ah, minister,' he said — and 
with such a comical, pawky leer, that even in spite of his 
sincere displeasure, the worthy minister could not refrain 
from an inward chuckle which disarmed all his wrath — 
' Ah, minister ! (hie) but YE're mebbe no a'thegither 
(hie) jist sae popular as I am.' 

Dear old Punch, the ever-green fountain of wit and 
wisdom, has caught the same idea of impudent yet 
humorous insouciance in the memorable sketch of John 
and the beadle. Said his reverence : — 

'John, this is a very dreadful thing. You have 
heard that there is one pound missing from the box ? ' 

' 'Deed, sir, so they war tellin' me.' 

Minister (very solemnly) — 'But, John, you and I 
alone have had access to that box.' 

John (coolly) — ' It's jist as ye say, sir. It maun lie 
atween the twa o' us. An' the best w'y'll be for you tae 



104 KIRKYAIRDS, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 

pay the tae hauf an' I'll pay the tither, an' we'll say nae 
mair aboot it.' 

The next instance is one, however, in which the 
minister, contrary to the usual wont, gets rather the 
best of it. The story is told of that doughty and devout 
old servant of God, the late Dr. Kidd of Aberdeen, and 
his beadle. The kirk-officer, it would appear, was a 
victim, like so many of his brethren, to the national vice. 
He had often been severely censured, as often for- 
given, and yet again would he fall into ' temptation and 
a snare.' One day the worthy doctor was confronted 
by Jeems, so fou that all his customary caution and 
sleek humility had flown, and in a defiant, reckless, pot- 
valiant mood he challenged the burly old doctor to 
come and drink with him. Recognising, with his usual 
ready wit, the utter futility of trying to reason with a 
man in such a state, and desirous of avoiding a scene, 
which a refusal might have precipitated. Dr. Kidd 
with practical good-sense at once humoured the drunken 
man so far as to say : ' Oh ay, Jeems, I'll come wi' ye, 
an' I'll drink like a beast to please ye.' 'Hooray!' 
hiccuped the befuddled beadle, 'come along.' So 
they entered the inn — the strangely-assorted couple the 
centre of observation to many a keen and curious pair of 
eyes. Jeems hiccuped out an order for ' a mutchkin,' 
and when the liquor was produced, he with a very shaky 
hand filled out a portion for himself and greedily 
gulped it down. The reverend old doctor carefully 
filled out a glass of cold water as his share, and quaffed 
that. ' Hoots ! ' expostulated the Bacchanalian beadle, 
' ye said ye wad drink like a beast, doctor ! ' ' Ay, 
Jeems, an' so I have,' was the dignified reply; 'for ye 



KIRKYAIBD8, SEXTONS, AND BURIALS 105 

ken a beast never drinks mair than is gude 
for't.' 

I may fitly finish this chapter anent beadles, by retail- 
ing an anecdote in which the trial of wit was between 
two rival members of the fraternity. It was not long 
after the Disruption, and a Free Kirk had been built 
fairly opposite the Auld Kirk. The beadles of the two 
rival establishments were overheard once comparing 
notes. Said the Free Kirk champion : ' D'ye ken, Davie, 
what yon deavin', ding-dong, great muckle bell o' yours 
aye minds me o' ? I aye think it's jist sayin' " Cauld 
kail het again ! Cauld kail het again ! " ' The other, with- 
out any seeming resentment at the implied slur on his 
minister's originality and industry replied : ' Ay, Jeems, 
but dae ye no ken what your wee bit tink-tinklin' 
bell's aye claverin' T ' Na ; what is't?' ' Ou jist 
" election ! election ! election ! " ' 



CHAPTEE VII 

FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

Old-time insanitary conditions — Tribute to the modern doctor — 
Effect of a ' bit poutherie ' — Jeddart physic — The hearse, an 
innovation — A Badenoch funeral — Glenesk customs — Old Tirly 
— ' SandieDrew o' the Yoker ' — Kerridge exercise — The death- 
shave — Callousness under bereavement — A grim mourner — 
' Kae complaint ' — A toast — A lingering patient — Unique use 
for a hearse — Sir Alfred Robert's story — ' Little fash aboot 
risin' ' — Stolid mourners — The Tain funeral — ' Taking her at 
her word ' — A miserly widower — A Scotch ' bull ' — ' A plagueit 
wumman ' — ISTo wives in stock— Epitaphs — ' A healthy place, 
Sorn ' — My grandfather's will — Extracts. 

But not alone in the ranks of beadledom, and the 
domain of the dead in churchyards, have reforms to be 
chronicled. The besom of change has been busy in 
every department of social custom ; nor, indeed, need the 
reverent student of the past and the fond antiquary mourn 
much that this is so. ' The old order changeth.' 'Tis 
the law of growth, of progress. The old-fashioned treat- 
ment of the sick, for instance, from a modern point of 
view, how heartless, how verily brutal it now seems. 
The awful concoctions and boluses of our childhood ; 
the fearful compounds of every vile-smelling and abom- 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 107 

inably-tasting drug. Assuredly it did need a strong 
constitution to weather the fierce showers of pills and 
potions, blisters and blood - lettings, draughts and 
drenches, that were literally rained upon any wretched 
suff'erer in ' the brave days of old,' The doctor was a 
despot, but ' the howdie ' was a veritable Star Chamber 
and Grand Inquisition combined. When one thinks of 
the stuffy rooms, from which every breath of free, health- 
giving ozone was as rigorously excluded as if it had 
been fire-damp ; of the awful box-beds with frowsy linen, 
and sometimes a whole wardrobe of wearing apparel 
sharing the cramped space with the sick occupants ; of 
the chaff or straw mattresses, in many cases dank with 
exudations from a fever-stricken frame — but why pile on 
the agony *? — when one thinks of those and other name- 
less concomitants of ignorance and sloth and perverted 
solicitude — for, after all, real kindness and concern for the 
sick lay at the back of all this, — then one can begin 
properly to appreciate the blessings of wire mattresses, 
cheerful, airy wards, and well-ventilated sickrooms, of 
trained nurses, antiseptic surgery, and the thousand and 
one beneficent appliances, blessed ameliorations, and 
soothing mitigations that the present generation of 
sick and suffering humanity enjoy, as compared with 
their immediate ancestors. Perhaps in no department 
of human effort has so much been done to vindicate the 
claim for man's divine nature, than is presented to us in 
the deeply interesting page of patient experiment, self- 
denying, unwearied research, and heroic self-sacrifice 
which tells the story of modern hygienic, sanitary, and 
hospital reform, and the progress of the healing art 
generally. As a class, with but very very few exceptions, 



108 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

the modern doctor is one of the noblest and most heroic 
figures of our time. I could dilate on this topic, for I 
have seen them at work — often wretchedly over-worked 
and under-paid — in the crowded slums of great cities ; 
in sparsely-peopled wastes on the outskirts of civilisation 
where the conditions of life are hard and repugnant ; in 
the midst of plague and pestilence, and amid the gory 
carnage of war. Wherever there is disease and death, 
and human misery and suffering ; wherever his divine art 
can relieve and heal; wherever the sacred touch of 
science, and the pure flame of unselfish investigation and 
research for the sake of humanity, and the pure love of 
learning leads — there, the modern doctor, the Bayard of 
our puling, pessimistic age, is" to be found : the paragon 
of pure unselfishness ; the heroic figure that relieves the 
dull, dead level of cynical unbelief and crass self-indul- 
gence, which marks the low- water line of modern fashion- 
able society. 

I do not forget that there are, thank God, other 
noble types of character, that are leaven centres, in this 
blas^, faineant, and largely good-for-nothing, so-called 
fashionable fin-de-sihde world of ours ; but the modern 
doctor, I must confess — and perhaps because I have 
been privileged to come much in contact with many 
noble specimens of the profession — has always seemed to 
me to typify some of the best virtues and the finest 
attributes of our race. 

But I must not forget that my theme is not modern 
society, but auld fashions and auld folk. Let the kind 
reader pardon this digression, and let us hark back to 
our budget of old-time recollections. 

A good story about physic just comes to me as I 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 109 

write. The hero was a stolid, stingy old farmer of the 
old school, upon whom the minister had called. After 
the usual interchange of conventional remarks, the 
worthy pastor asked how the wife fared. The farmer, 
in a very nonchalant way, replied : — 

' Oh, she's deid.' 

' Dead ? ' said the minister, quite shocked. ' Dead 1 
Dear me, it must have been very sudden. Was there 
an accident ? How did it happen 1 ' 

'Weel, ye see, minister,' very composedly explained 
the bereaved one, 'she took gey onweel, an' syne she 
grew waur, an' some o' the neebors said I suld send 
for the doctor; but losh, sir, I mindit 'at I hed 
a bit pootherie i' the hoose, an' so I gied her the 
poother.' 

'Well!' 

' Weel, sir, she dee'd ! ' and then with unctuous feel- 
ing he continued : ' But eh, sir, I'm rael gled noo I 
didna tak' the bit poother masel'.' 

It is beyond a doubt that the poor wife would have 
been better served had she been doctored Jedburgh 
fashion. What that was, may be surmised from the 
following true story. 

A stranger came to Jedburgh one day — or, as the 
natives prefer to call it, Jeddart. He looked somewhat 
of a valetudinarian, and he asked one of the casual in- 
habitants to direct him to the chemist's shop. 

'The what, sir r 

' The chemist's shop.' 

' Ay, an' whit kin' o' a shop's that na 1 ' 

' Why, the place where ye can buy medicine ! ' 

'Eh, sir, we've nae sic shop as that in Jeddart.' 



no FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

' No 1 What do you do then when any one falls ill 1 
Do you take no medicine ? ' 

' 'Deed, no ! Deil a drap ! We've jist whisky for the 
folk, an' tar for the sheep, an' that's a' the f eesick we 
deal in.' 

But to hark back to my reminiscences of funerals 
and funeral customs. 

One of the best descriptions ever written of a funeral 
of the olden time, is that so graphically told by John 
Gait in The Entail ; and of course allusions to the quaint 
old customs that are now fast dying out, are scattered 
here and there in nearly every book relating to Scottish 
history. 

The hearse, for instance, is quite an innovation of 
recent times, and I have myself known many worthy 
old people who held it in as much contempt and repro- 
bation as they held the church organ. 

Christenings, weddings, and burials were all alike 
opportunities for so much unwonted social intercourse, 
for the meeting of kinsfolk and neighbours, and they 
not unusually terminated in rough, rude, and riotous 
conviviality and regrettable excess. In the Highlands, 
at all events, the Celtic impulsiveness and impression- 
able emotional nature of the people, often betrayed the 
mourners into extravagant excesses. 

An old friend, Mr. Murray, tells me of a funeral at 
which he himself was an invited guest, and which, he 
assures me, was a fair specimen of what was customary 
in his young days. There had been the usual ceremonial 
washing and streekin' of the corpse, the vigils corre- 
sponding in some degree to the Irish wake. Unstinted 
supplies of refreshments had been provided, and par- 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. Ill 

taken of with true Gaelic fervour, and at length the 
funeral procession had been marshalled, and had set out 
on its long, devious way. The family burial-place 
happened to be at Struan ; the abode of the deceased 
was in Badenoch. It was too great a distance to carry 
the coffin by hand, and so a farm-cart, with a pair of 
plough horses harnessed tandem-fashion, had been re- 
quisitioned for the mournful transit. Alongside the 
coffin in the cart a big wooden chest was placed. This 
was packed with provender such as the means of the 
family afforded : cakes, bread, cheese, ham, even beef, 
and, above all, whisky on the most generous scale. 
Some one, generally a closely -related clansman, was 
deputed to act as chief steward on the occasion. His 
function was to dispense whisky to every living soul 
that the cortege might encounter on its way to the 
graveyard. Mr. Murray met the long procession at 
Dalnacardoch in Athol, and he and his companion had 
at once to partake of whisky, and taste the provisions. 
Of course others, nothing loath for friendship's sake, had 
to see that they did not 'drink alane.' Two or three 
miles further on they met the Royal Mail, at that time 
running between Perth and Inverness ; but perhaps I 
had better let Mr. Murray tell the tale in his own 
fashion. 

' Well, sir, we cam' up wi' the Mail — the train cam' 
nae farrer north than Perth at that time— an' I mind 
fine on the yae coach there was a fine, douce, steady 
driver an' an awfu' drucken gaird ; an' on the ither 
coach they had pitten a sober gaird wi' a drucken driver. 
Aweel this was the sober driver an' the drucken gaird, 
an' there wis a wheen passengers, an' yae Londoner sort 



112 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

o' bodie. Of coorse the Mail drew up, an' the man in 
the cairt boot tae hae oot the whisky, an' it was haunded 
roon'. The bit Lunnon bodie seemed fair horrifeed 
whin he wis tauld he wad hae tae tak' aif his gless to 
avoid giein' mortal offense. Aweel efter a gey wheen 
stoppages o' a like sort, we got to Struan. At that time 
it wis aye a near relation that baith howkit the grave 
an' filled it in. That wis coontit an honour, ye ken. 
Weel, efter the puir man wis berrit, an' the grave filled 
in, an' happit doon, the big aik kist wis brocht oot o' 
the cairt, and it was set doon fair on the tap o' the 
new-made grave, an' syne ilka body jist sat roond an' 
begoud upo' the provender an' the whisky, an' jist keepit 
at it as lang as they could hand oot.' 

Frequently, too, old feuds were reopened, and the pro- 
ceedings terminated in simply a drunken brawl. Indeed, 
I am told that one funeral would very often prove the 
occasion of successive ceremonies of a like kind ; but I am 
not now speaking from personal knowledge, and would 
fain hope that possibly my friendly informants may have 
somewhat unconsciously magnified the more objectionable 
episodes connected with what nowadays, at all events, 
is generally so solemn and touching an office. The old, 
rude habits and excesses may still linger in some out-of- 
the-way sequestered spots, but the gentler amenities hold 
undisputed sway over the greater part of our, in this 
respect at least, better regulated and more highly civilised 
country. 

Up in Glenesk I know of a certainty, from my own 
boyish recollections and the corroboration of my old 
kinsfolk and kentfolk, that very much the same rough- 
and-ready procedure obtained, until within a very recent 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 113 

period. A death was an occasion for a regular clan 
gathering. It was a point of honour for all the kith 
and kin to meet, if it were at all within the bounds of 
possibility. A ceaseless vigil was held over the corpse, 
relays of watchers succeeding each other. The hospi- 
tality was as profuse as it became unwise. Away up in 
the Forest o' Birse a favourite compound was considered 
en rhgle. It was a decoction of hot tea and whisky, and 
was known as Birse tea. Potations were deep and pro- 
longed. Indeed, I have heard of one minister, who was 
heard to give his consent to officiate at the funeral, de- 
pendent on the condition that there should only be ' nae 
mair than yae browst.' The evening, however, after the 
minister had left, would generally see the ' one browst ' 
mightily multiplied. 

So little were the most ordinary modern sanitary 
conditions observed, that I can record it as a fact that in 
one case in the Highlands — I could name the locality, 
but I will not — the sheet which had covered the dead 
body of the poor child that had been buried, was used 
after the funeral as a table-cloth, on which were spread 
the funeral meats and cakes which had been provided 
for the refection of all the old women in the parish, 
who had, as was usual, attended at the ceremony. What 
makes the statement all the more significant, and more 
clearly accentuates the welcome change that has taken 
place in this particular at all events, is the fact, solemnly 
stated to me by one who actually witnessed the scene, 
that the poor child had died of diphtheria, and that no 
fewer than seven deaths from the same fell disease, had 
taken place in the same family within the preceding 
three months. 

I 



114 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

One of the notable characters at all 'the Glen' funerals, 
was a tall, old farmer with grizzled locks, and a curious 
impediment in his speech. He was generally known as 
'Tirly Birly,' that being the name of his little farm. 
' Tirly ' somehow generally managed to get himself 
installed as master of the ceremonies ; and some captious 
critics used to slyly suggest that this was done to avoid 
the necessity, which lay on all and sundry, to take their 
due share in the burden — often a truly irksome and 
weighty one — of carrying the corpse. Many a time the 
poor dead neighbour had to be carried weary miles over 
the blushing heather, through quaking bogs and across 
trackless moors, in the sweltering heat of summer, or 
through the blinding drift and howling storms of an icy 
winter. No matter what the season. Old ' Tirly ' was 
pretty sure to be there. He brought the ' spokes ' with 
him, that being the synonym for the staves which were 
put under the coffin, and to which four carriers were 
apportioned. As the first four began to fag under their 
depressing load. Old ' Tirly's ' strident voice would be 
heard crying out, 'Ither fower'j and the fresh relay from 
the accompanying band of mourners would take the 
place of the wearied ones, who were no doubt glad to 
relinquish their post of honour. Even in such a secluded 
corner of our island, however, as Glenesk, the old 
customs are fast falling into desuetude, and the ubi- 
quitous hearse has almost entirely done away with the 
old-fashioned ' spokes ' and ' carriers.' 

It was in illustration of these old customs that the 
story is told of one ' Sandie Drew,' of 'The Yoker,' a 
small village near Glasgow. Sandie was a rough, stolid, 
coarse-grained 'cairter,' utterly devoid of imagination 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 115 

or any approach to refinement, but quite typical of the 
prosaic, uneducated, lower class of the town-bred Scottish 
men of the last generation. He and his son had been 
asked to attend the funeral of a neighbour lately 
deceased. The son was, if possible, even coarser in 
grain than the sire, and when asked by Sandie if he 
' wis gaun,' gruffly replied : — 

' 'Deed no, feyther, deil a fit ah'm gaun. What's the 
user 

' Hoots, min ! ' said Sandie, ' ye'd better k'wa' wi' me. 
Ye'll aye get a giess o' wine at ony rate, an', f orbye, ye'll 
no hae tae cairry.' 

One of my cousins, who has settled in the Lowlands, 
brought with him from far-away Shetland, a simple, 
faithful soul as gardener and ' orra man,' named Eobbie. 
Naturally, Eobbie who had never before been beyond the 
unsophisticated bounds of his native isle, found much food 
for wonder when he first was brought into contact with 
the more advanced civilisation of a manufacturing town 
' doon sooth.' One day he returned from a walk, and 
said to his master : ' Losh, sir, I've seen the day, the 
graundest kerridge I've ever set my een on ! ' ' Ay, 
Robbie, an' what like was't ? ' ' Oh, sir, it wis a great 
muckle black coach, an' a' mounted wi' black fur an' 
feathers.' It turned out to have been the first hearse 
poor Eobbie had ever seen. 

Following the country custom of providing all sorts 
of conveniences and refreshments for sympathetic 
friends and mourners, it was long a custom in the chief 
towns in Scotland, and indeed may yet be so for all I 
know to the contrary, to hire mourning carriages for the 
behoof of mourners who accepted invitations to the 



116 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

funeral. It was generally notified by advertisement 
inserted by the undertaker, and charged for at rates 
corresponding with the supposed quality of the deceased, 
that carriages would be in waiting at such and such a 
place to take mourners from the city to the place of 
interment. In Glasgow, I believe, a long row of such car- 
riages generally used to stand near St. George's Church. 
A certain canny Scot of the famous city had, it seems, 
been ordered carriage exercise by his doctor for some 
ailment that oppressed him, and being of a frugal and 
an ingenious turn of mind, he had hit on an expedient 
which enabled him to save his pocket and obey his 
doctor at one and the same time. A friend had seen 
him in one of these mourning carriages, and later on 
in the day had accosted him, mentioning the circum- 
stance, and asked, 'if it hed bin a near relation.' 'No, 
nae relation ava' ! ' was the complacent reply ; ' bit, 
ye see, I've been ordered kerridge exercise by my 
doctor, an', man, I've been twice at the Toon Heid the 
day already.' 

The strange vagaries of Highland custom as exempli- 
fied in Mr. Murray's account of the Badenoch funeral 
above given, would seem not wholly to have been con- 
fined to the period subsequent to death. Some confused 
sense of the majesty of the King of Terrors, and the 
need for observing due decorum at his approach, would 
seem to have been the actuating motive in the following 
strange scene, vouched for by the narrator as having 
been witnessed by himself in the Perthshire Highlands. 

The minister, a recent arrival from the Lowlands, had 
gone to see a dying parishioner, and when he reached 
the cottage he found several of the family bathed in 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 117 

tears. ' Is he worse 1 ' he asked. ' Oh, sir, he's jist 
deein',' was the sobbing reply. Looking towards the 
'box-bed,' where the sufferer was lying almost at the 
last gasp, he was astonished to see two men bending 
over the body engaged apparently in some mysterious 
ceremonial. 

' What are these men doing there ^ ' he demanded. 

'Eh, sir, they're jist shaivin' him.' 

' Shaving him ? ' echoed the minister, in sheer amaze- 
ment. ' Can they not let the poor man die in peace ? ' 

' Ah, sir, it's far easier noo ! ' was the strange reply, 
given with a genuine outburst of unaffected grief. 

I would be glad to know from any reader, if this was 
a common custom in the Highlands, for I confess it was 
new to me when I heard it first. 

There was less emotion, if greater humour of the dry, 
cynical character, in the next instance I have to cite. 
It was in one of the old-established mercantile houses in 
Edinburgh, and the head of the firm had just died. An 
attached old employS who had been in the service of the 
house the greater part of a lifetime, and perhaps pre- 
sumed a little on that fact, to occasionally perform his 
duties with what might appear to an outside critic, 
almost exaggerated deliberateness, was, as might natur- 
ally have been expected, much overcome by the sad 
event. Mr. Jardine the manager, now the ruling power, 
came upon the old fellow in a small retiring-room, cry- 
ing bitterly and perhaps just a trifle ostentatiously. On 
being asked rather sharply what was the matter, he re- 
ferred to the loss the house had just sustained, and rather 
affectedly whimpered out : — 

' Ah, Mr. Jardine, I canna be lang efter him.' 



118 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

'Aweel, Eobert,' came the dry response, 'ye'd jist 
better gang back to yer wark i' the noo.' 

Quite as devoid of emotion or sentiment was the 
expression used by a rough working-man in one of the 
Lanarkshire mining towns, and which vies with the Tyne- 
side pitman's cool unconcern. The poor man had lost 
one child out of a pretty large family. He had made 
all the survivors members of a burial society, by pay- 
ing up the requisite fees and instalments. On some 
neighbour expressing condolence with him for the loss 
of the child he had just buried, and which had not been 
a member of the burial club, he said, pointing to the 
other bairns : ' Oo ay, but if it hed hae bin ony o' thae 
yins, it wudna hae been sae muckle missed.' 

Many a good anecdote might be chronicled of things 
said after the funeral. That was a bit of pungent 
satire overheard after the burial of a leading citizen in 
Glasgow, who had been notoriously grasping and 
miserly. Said one, referring to the contents of the will, 
which had just been made public : ' Well ! I would 
have thought he'd have left more money.' 'Ah, in- 
deed ! ' was the bland but witty retort, ' I did not hear 
how much he had taken away with him.' 

Better still was the grim evasiveness illustrated by 
the following. It was after the funeral, and a party of 
the mourners, seated in a third-class carriage, were 
waiting for the train to start on their homeward way. 
Some were filling their pipes, the aroma of whisky was 
distinctly discernible, and there was a subdued sort of 
relieved feeling after tension, a kind of moral and intel- 
lectual stand-at-ease attitude of mind, which betrayed 
itself in every tone and gesture. Only one occupant of 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 119 

the carriage was an exception to the general complexion 
of the group. Graunt and erect, clad in deepest mourn- 
ing, voluminous crape on his rusty hat, and inflexible 
austerity visible in every angle of his iron countenance 
and steel-like starched collar — he sat bolt upright in a 
corner, nor sufi'ered his cold gray eye to wander from 
the straight line of horizontal exactitude in which he 
had cast it. At length the tobacco cutting, pipe filling 
and lighting came to an end, and one of the company 
after an exchange of sundry nods and nudges, made bold 
to address the Gorgon-like figure in the corner. 

'Ay, Maister Macdonal', this has been a sair loss 
to ye, nae doot ? ' No notice beyond a momentary glare 
was taken of this advance. 

Another now took up his parable and said : ' She 
wis yer only sister, wisna she, Maister Macd.onar ? ' 

The iron lips opened and snapped like a rat-trap as 
the monosyllable ' Yis ! ' was jerked out rather than 
spoken. 

' Whit wis her age 1 ' asked another. 

' Fufty- three,' was shot like a pellet in reply. 

' An' whit was the naiter o' her complaint 1 ' was the 
next query. 

' A complicashun ! ' was the ambiguous rejoinder, while 
the severity of the iron man's expression deepened. 

Nothing daunted, the first interlocutor now approached 
the crucial question to which all this had been but the 
mere skirmishing prelude. All heads bent nearer as the 
question was put : ' An' whit did she leave, Maister 
Macdonal' ? ' 

A gleam of sardonic humour, like a warm sunbeam on 
a winter day, shot athwart the rugged visage, as raising 



120 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

his eyes to the roof of the carriage in real or assumed 
emotion, he answered with a deep, choking sort of voice : 
' She left this warl' ! ' 

Somewhat similar was the colloquy at the church- 
yard gate between the stolid old betheral and an in- 
quisitive stranger. The cortege of homeward-bound 
mourners was just disappearing amid the distant 
'stoor,' and the grim old man was wiping his heated 
brows with his red spotted ' naipkin,' when the stranger 
came up, and said with a note of interrogation in his 
voice : — 

' Funeral 1 ' 

The old sexton assimilated his suspended pinch of 
snufi', and bowed his head in token of assent. 

'Who's deadr 

The old man wiped the superfluous pungent powder 
from his scrubby upper lip, and gave the required in- 
formation. 

' What complaint 1 ' persisted the inquisitor. 

Leisurely putting away his ' sneeshin' mull,' and 
deliberately placing his cotton handkerchief in the crown 
of his old hat, which he slowly placed on his bald pate, 
he oracularly replied : ' There's nae complaint. A'body's 
pairfeckly setisfeed ! ' 

Was it not a relative of Lord Brougham's who being 
asked to propose some toast at the feast which followed 
on some funeral at which the company had been present, 
rose to his feet, and with due solemnity but suppressed 
slyness proposed : ' The health of the f aimily physeechian, 
the founder of this feast ' 1 

While on this sepulchral strain I may as well jot 
down another story still further illustrative of the 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 121 

apparently callous and unfeeling nature of the people, 
which I have already touched upon. At the marriage 
of a certain young couple, one of the wedding presents 
had been a pair of beautiful glossy white waxen candles, 
and these had for many years remained in 'the aumrie,' 
carefully wrapped in flannel, and were only brought out 
on great occasions to show to favoured visitors. It had 
long ago been settled between Marget and John that 
the candles would be kept intact until death should 
overtake one or other, when the candles would be used 
to add a lustre and dignity to the funeral proceedings ; 
and many a time when the guidwife was ' redding-up,' 
in her annual house-cleaning, she would take out the 
candles, and gloating over their beautiful waxen- 
polished whiteness, now, alas ! turning to a dull, 
creamy, ivory yellow, she would speculate whether 
John would predecease her, or whether she would 
be taken away first; and she would allow a thrill of 
pride to possess her sometimes, when she reflected 
what an air of distinction the burning of real waxen 
candles would give to the funeral ceremonies. In fact, 
she would often mentally rehearse the scene thus 
pictured to herself : the looks of surprise and envy 
with which the neighbours would greet her as she 
ushered in her splendid candles in the brightly-polished 
brass candlesticks. To those who know the immense 
significance attached to the funeral customs in rural 
Scotland in bygone days, this peculiar idiosyncrasy of 
the old lady will not be wondered at. However, poor 
John was at length seized with a wasting sickness. For 
a loDg time he had been confined to the box-bed in the 
kitchen, and the vision of an imposing funeral ceremony 



122 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

loomed still more largely and nearly than ever in Marget's 
mental introspections. Two or three times it had been 
'touch and go' with John. Indeed, more than once, 
Marget had laid in the necessary stock of 'wines an' 
speerits, shortbreid and cake,' but John had ever and 
again rallied, and at length poor Marget began almost to 
feel aggrieved at such obstinacy on the ' pairt o' a deein' 
man.' At last, however, surely the critical climax had 
arrived. Poor John, after terrific fits of hectic coughing, 
lay gasping for breath; and the neighbours and near 
kindred, drawn partly by curiosity, and surely some of 
them from a feeling of sympathy and blood affection, 
had gathered together to witness the end of the depart- 
ing saint. The doctor had been in, and gave his verdict 
that the end was near. Marget had ushered her visitors 
and sympathisers into the best room, and there on the 
table she had arrayed the customary supplies of creature 
comforts demanded by the strictest conventionalism ; 
and then with a feeling of elation and gratified self- 
esteem she had produced the long-treasured candles, 
with a sigh of renunciation as she thought that at last 
their immaculate purity was to be sullied by the touch of 
flame. The crowning, triumphant moment of years of 
possession was at hand, and still (it was really too bad 
of him) poor John lingered on. A deathlike silence 
reigned in the guest-chamber, broken occasionally only 
by a deep, pious sigh or unctuous cough, as one more 
glass of whisky was assimilated by the grief -stricken yet 
'drouthy neebors.' Marget flitted from the deathbed 
to the parlour with a conscious air of importance. 
Presently the clatter of hoofs was heard w^ithout, and 
the good old minister lit down from his trusty 'auld 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 123 

white meer,' and reverently, with a professional look 
suited for the occasion, joined the assembly; and in 
obedience to the silent summons from Marget he, too, 
partook of ' jist a wee drappie speerits,' with a manner 
which lifted the simple custom almost into the dignity 
of a solemn act of ritual. Still poor John's reluctant 
spirit lingered in its worn earthly tenement. Marget's 
patience became almost exhausted. It seemed really 
too bad of a ' deein' man ' to offer, even unconsciously, 
any hindrance to the consummation of such perfect 
arrangements as had been made. So the poor distracted 
wife, torn by a conflict of emotions, doubtless with a 
tender though sternly repressed regard for the husband 
of her youth, and yet with an intense desire that every 
due observation demanded by high tradition and ancient 
custom should be scrupulously observed, bent low over 
the dying man. She shook up his pillows, brushed back 
the damp hair from the pallid brow, and then as his 
sunken eyes heavily lifted, and looked through the 
glazing film of gathering death into the hard-set face 
whereon lay many lines of care and toil, and which now 
bent over him, she whispered in his ear : ' John ! John ! ' 
and there was a sobbing pathos in the homely words. 
'Ah, John,' she said, 'the fowk are a' here, the table's 
set oot, and oh, John, the wax can'les are lichted. 
Dinna linger ! dinna linger ! ' 

Of quite as practical, though not so pathetic, a char- 
acter, was the conduct of a rather penurious Highlander, 
of whom it is recorded that on his father's death in the 
Highlands, much to the astonishment of his friends, the 
dutiful but close-fisted son hired a hearse to bring the 
honoured remains of his parent down to Glasgow 



124 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

Cemetery. Some one of his cronies afterwards ventured 
to express surprise that he had gone to such an extra- 
ordinary expense ; but Tonal, with an indescribable leer 
in his eye, said : ' Och, man, it cost me naethin' ; for, ye 
see, I procht doon as muckle whisky i' the hearse as 
buried the auld man.' 

The point of this story of course lies in the fact that 
the whisky was smuggled, and the duty thus filched 
from the Crown paid all the expenses of the funeral. 

While I am on the subject of funerals, Sir Alfred 
Roberts, of Sydney, New South Wales, told me a good 
story one day of a poor patient who was lying in Prince 
Alfred Hospital, the magnificent institution over which 
Sir Alfred so ably presides. ' The medical superintendent 
sent a telegram to the wife, who must have been of 
mixed Celtic blood, probably a north of Ireland woman. 
The telegram read as follows : ' Husband very ill ; may 
die at any moment.' No reply was received by Sir Alfred, 
but the dying husband received one, which read thus : 'If 
you die, see that you are buried by the Oddfellows.' 

The next on my note-book is rather a good specimen 
of caustic Scotch humour. In one of the finely-laid-out 
city cemeteries in the west a rich citizen who was a 
notorious sceptic and scoffer had erected a massive 
mausoleum on what he was pleased grandiloquently to 
call ' his ancestral plot,' with a view to perpetuate his 
somewhat worthless memory. One day he met a 
worthy, douce elder of the kirk, a devout, simple- 
minded man, coming away from the vicinity of the 
imposing mass of masonry, and the infidel said : — 

'Weel, Dauvit, ye've been up seein' that graund 
erection o' mine '? ' 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETG. 125 



"Deed have I, sir.' 

' Gey strong place that, isn't it 1 It'll tak' a man a' 
his time to rise oot o' yon at the Day o' Jeedgement.' 

'Hech, ma man,' said the elder, 'ye can gie yersel' 
little fash aboot risin', fin that day comes. They'll tak' 
the boddom oot o't tae lat ye doon ! ' 

Yet another illustration of that curious apparent 
disregard of all feeling, to which I have already alluded, 
has, I think, been in print before ; but it is very charac- 
teristic. The officiating minister at a funeral was about 
to off'er up prayer, and wishing to have some clue to 
guide him to a seasonable and befitting utterance, he 
asked in a whisper of the man nearest to him, a stolid, 
wooden-faced sort of man : ' What occupation did you 
say the deceased followed ? ' ' Od, I dinna ken ! ' said 
the man ; then raising his voice he said, in the most 
matter-of-fact way, to a friend opposite : ' Fat wis the 
corp to trade, John % ' 

Very similar was the calm, philosophic explanation 
of a bereaved wife to a visitor, in a fishing village near 
Montrose. With a view to condolence, the friendly 
gossip said : — 

' Eh, sirss ! an' so John's deid ? ' 

'Ow ay,' said the widow, 'John's deid, puir man !' 
And then, as if in explanation of her composed resigna- 
tion, she added somewhat deprecatingly : ' Ye ken, 
although nae doot he's the feyther o' the bairns, he wis, 
efter a', nae drap's bluid to me.' 

Quite difi'erent was the feeling manifested at the 
humble funeral of a poor old woman near Tain. It so 
happened that as the meagre cortege reached the 
churchyard it was met by a returning crowd of the well- 



126 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

to-do burghers of the town who had just been attending 
the funeral of a well-known man of substance of the 
neighbourhood. Touched with a very laudable feeling 
of compassion and courteous pity, they turned back 
again in neighbourly and kindly spirit to convoy the 
poor humble coffin to its last resting-place. The be- 
reaved husband could not conceal his gratification and 
his added sense of importance. Beaming with smug 
complacency, he said to one of his friends, with a jerk 
of his thumb towards the coffin : ' Eh, Tam, winna 
Kirsty be prood o' this na ? ' — meaning the poor dead 
wife would be proud of the large though accidental 
attendance at her funeral. 

The Eev. A. Osborne, a dear old friend to whom I 
am indebted for many a racy story, wrote me last 
November thus : — 

'I have not forgotten your love of a good Scotch 
story. Here is one which I can vouch to be no 
chestnut. I have an old uncle, the U.P. minister of 

S , Glasgow, but many years ago of West L . 

Well, it seems in L there is a kindly-natured bit o' 

a dressmaker bodie, slightly deformed, a former member 
of my uncle's congregation, and still a great lover and 
admirer of her old minister. Lately she came through 

to pay him a visit, and on leaving L she remarked 

to some of her cronies : " Eh, if it war only the Lord's 
wuU, there's naething I wad like better than tae dee 
near ma auld meenister ! " 

' It so happened that in S she did indeed take 

a bad turn, and what did she do but scuttle home 

again to L as fast as she could ? When her friends 

expressed surprise at her speedy return she naively said : 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 127 

" Weel, the fac' is, sirss, I wis fear't the Lord wis gaun 
tae tak' me at ma word ! " ' 

Another good old U.P. minister, who has gone to his 
rest — the Eev. Mr. Russell — used to tell a story illus- 
trative of the canny frugality, or, as some may call it, 
stinginess or parsimony, of certain of ' oor ain folk ' ; 
and it comes in not altogether inappositely while I am 
on the subject of the present chapter. 

He had an old farmer in his congTegation who lived 
in an outlying portion of the parish several good Scotch 
miles from the manse. The farmer's wife had been 
stricken down with sickness, and Mr. Russell made 
many visits to encourage and cheer the poor bodie, and 
ungrudgingly trudged many a weary mile over hill and 
moorland to administer comfort to the dying woman. 
The farmer was a well-to-do man for his station in life, 
but the love of lucre had eaten into his nature as a 
canker, and the dying woman's surroundings were 
not notorious for a superfluity of luxuries, to put it 
mildly. Thus Mr. Russell all the more made a point of 
being frequent in his visits, as these seemed to brighten 
up the weary tedium of the poor sufferer's lot. At 
length the end came, and very shortly after the funeral, 
the annual seat-letting of the church pews came round. 
The recently bereaved farmer came in his turn to secure 
his accustomed pew for the year, but he evidently had 
something on his mind. He fumbled with his hat, 
scratched his head, had the grace to look red and 
uncomfortable, but at last blurted out, as he proffered 
half the usual contribution : ' Ye see, sir, Jessie's deid, 
an' I wisna thinkin' o' keepin' on her seat.' 

Speaking of funerals, here is a good specimen of a 



128 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

genuine Scottish 'bull.' Two cronies passing by a 
graveyard, the one said : ' Losh, man, I wad rayther dee 
than be berried there!' 'Ay,' said the other, 'wi'me 
noo it's jist the vera revairse, for I wadna like to be 
berried ony where else, if I'm spared.' 

Just as much of a bull in its way was the unconscious 
contradiction used by one of the unemployed in Edin- 
burgh, who had got a temporary job to sweep a heavy 
fall of snow from the streets. Accosting another of the 
gang, as he stopped to beat his arms, he said : ' Eh, Jock, 
man, it's as cauld as blazes ! ' Jock possibly did not 
know that with the West India nigger the place of 
eternal torments is located in hyperborean regions. 

While on the subject of funerals one is tempted to 
quote the two delicious samples of unconscious humour 
which, however, have, I think, seen print before some- 
where, they are so illustrative of the callous or maybe 
philosophic way of looking on bereavement, which 
characterises a certain class of rustic minds in Scot- 
land, and of which I have already been giving examples. 

The one is the querulous outburst of the thrifty 
goodwife, who, in reply to a condolence by the minister 
on the death of a third husband, petulantly exclaimed : 
' Was ever a wumman sae plagueit wi' deein' men ? ' 

The other, after much the same pattern, was the 
reply given by an old farmer who had seen his third 
wife ' weel happit,' as they would call it in my county. 
With cheery complacency he answered the newly-arrived 
minister's inquiry as to how the wife was, with the 
guileless information : ' Dod, meenister, I'm oot o' wives 
the noo ! ' 

An irreverent epitaph, which I have heard attributed 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 129 

to Eobbie Burns, may be chronicled here, as being some- 
what akin to the subject of funerals and deaths. I do 
not remember myself to have seen it in print, though no 
doubt it is well known. It runs thus : — 

Here lies the body of Doctor Gordon, 
Teeth almichty, an' mooth accordin' ! 
Stranger, tread lichtly on this wonder ; 
If he opens his mooth yer gone, By Thunder ! 

Another, which commemorates the besetting sin of 
an old miser, is as follows : — 

Interred beneath this churchyard stone 

Lies stingy Jimmy Wyatt ; 
He died one morning just at ten, 

And saved a dinner by it. 

I was told not long ago, of another epitaph, which was 
said to have been written under somewhat curious 
circumstances. A typical, energetic, enterprising Scots- 
man in foreign parts, having amassed considerable 
wealth, sent home, as many of his countrymen have 
done, a commission to find out the circumstances of his 
old mother, if still alive, with a view to minister to her 
comfort. If dead, the instructions were to provide a 
headstone, with a suitable inscription, to place over her 
tomb. Alas ! for the tardy good intentions. The poor 
old mother had long ago filled a nameless grave, and the 
very spot where she was interred was unknown. One 
version says it was in St. Cyrus graveyard, and the 
encroaching sea had cut away many of the graves ; but 
be that as it may, the instructions were specific and 
express — Expense was not to be allowed to stand in the 
way. Eather than lose the profitable job, the village 

K 



130 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

mason therefore provided a stone, which was put up in 
a corner of the churchyard, and on it were chisell-ed the 
following lines : — 

The place where Kirsty Machir hes 

Is here or here aboot ; 
The place where Kirsty Machir lies 

There's nane can find it oot. 
The place where Kirsty Machir lies 

There's nane on earth can tell, 
Till at the Kesurrection day, 

"When Kirsty tells hersel'. 

For pithy irony, however, commend me to the following, 
composed upon a rather notorious lawyer in Aber- 
deenshire, about the end of .the last century. With a 
keen appreciation of the certainty of retribution for evil 
living, the pungent scribe wrote : — 

In the last day, when others rise, 
Lie still, Ked Rob, gin ye be wise. 

It is extraordinary the fascination funereal literature 
has for some minds. In rural Scotland the funeral and 
everything pertaining to it has seemingly at all times pos- 
sessed some powerful attraction for the ordinary run of 
our country folk. Possibly it may have been part of the 
unspoken protest, against that hard repression of natural 
emotion — the stern and almost universal interdict 
against gaiety and amusement which came in with the 
Calvinistic standards of doctrine and discipline after the 
Eeformation, and about which I have spoken at some 
length elsewhere.^ In the excitement and bustle and 
stir of a funeral, with its quaint customs, there was felt 

1 Oor Ain Folk. Edinburgh, 1894. 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 131 

to be some legitimate excuse for social communion, and 
the exercise of almost unbridled excess under the guise 
of hospitality, which powerfully appealed to the ' natural 
man.' You cannot compress human nature into a mould 
as you can clay, and in this little commonplace fact, lies 
the explanation of much that seems so curious and 
unique in one's survey of the quaint, paradoxical, and 
deeply-interesting story of the evolution of Scottish 
national character. 

How droll, yet how thoroughly Scottish, for instance, 
the complaint of the querulous old fellow who had 
migrated from Nithsdale to London, and to whom his 
friends used regularly to send the local paper. The 
first thing of course that John would look at, was the 
obituary column. On one occasion he was heard grum- 
blingly to say, in a tone of displeased disappointment : 
' What's the use o' sendin' a paper like that 1 There's 
no a leevin' sowl deid that I was acquant wi'.' 

But the old customs are fast dying out. The old 
order, with all its crudity and much that was regret- 
table, had yet an element of the picturesque and uncom- 
mon about it. We are falling into the uniform and the 
prosaic more and more. Our faculty of wonder, of 
admiration, of awe, of spontaneity, is becoming com- 
pressed into a sort of machine-made sameness of pattern. 
We no longer follow our individual bent as the old folks 
did. The tawdry, inartistic. Socialist paint-brush, is 
splashing us all over with a dead gray distemper, and 
light and shade are vanishing from the landscape of 
social custom and national character. We are approxi- 
mating to the unemotional, prosaic type of mind of the 
draper's apprentice in classic Ayr. He was fresh from 



132 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

the country, and the worthy draper, wishing to set the 
lad somewhat at his ease, said : — 

' Ay, ma man, an' whaur div ye come frae ? ' 

' Frae Sorn.' 

' Sorn ! That's a healthy place. Folk'll no dee often 
there?' 

(Apprentice) ' Jist aince ! ' 

Before I close the chapter, and while on this subject, 
I would like to append one or two quaint and rather 
touching epitaphs we copied in the old graveyard beside 
Loch Lee when up in Glenesk the other day. 

One is over the grave of ' Donald Nichol, age 85, who 
died in 1799,' and runs as follows : — 

The Grave, Great Teacher, to one level brings 
Heroes and Beggars, Galley Slaves and Kings. 

Donald's birth would be in the year 1714, and no doubt 
the allusion to galley slaves, which sounds so strange 
to modern ears, and suggests such far-off historic recol- 
lections, would be perfectly appropriate at the time it 
was carven on the crumbling gray slate, where it now 
stands half eaten away by Time. 
Another reads thus : — 

Here is reposed the dust of David Christison, 

Farmer in Auchronie, who died 20th Dece^. 

aged 61 years. 

A man of integrity and veracity, 

And charitably disposed to the Indigent. 

What a simple and yet what a splendid record to the 
man's nobility of character ! It is pleasant to think that 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 133 



'Auchronie,' a snug little farmhouse, close behind my 
grandfather's old manse, is still in the occupation of 
David Christison's descendants, and that the good old 
character for hospitality and kindness to the needy and 
indigent, is still nobly maintained. 

The last I shall give is from a quaint old tomb near 
the handsome memorial stone that has been erected over 
the grave of Alexander Eoss, the famous Glen Poet. 
The inscription reads thus : — 

Stop, passenger, incline thine head. 
And talk a little with the dead. 
I had my day, as well as thou, 
But worms are my companions now. 
Hence then, and for thy change prepare 
With bent endeavour, earnest care ; 
For death pursues thee as a post. 
There's not a moment to be lost. 

The allusion to the ' pursuing postman ' is very quaint, 
and takes one a long way back. It irresistibly reminded 
me of my old Indian days, and the running dak men or 
Indian postmen among the jungles and waste places 
there. 

There fell into my hands after Oor Ain Folk was 
published, and too late, of course, for inclusion in that 
family record, a copy of the last will and testament of 
my grandfather, the old minister of Glenesk. It affords 
a curious glimpse into the character of a fine typical 
* farmer-cleric ' of the old school, and a few brief ex- 
tracts may perhaps not be uninteresting. There is a 
tone of deep piety and living faith in it, relieved with 
an odd gleam or two of the old man's habitual humour, 
which is, I think, very characteristic of a special phase 
of the old Scottish type of mind. 



134 

He begins by stating that ' being in full possession of 
all my mental powers, but considering that life is short 
and uncertain,' he provides for payment of all his debts. 
Then leaves to his wife and unmarried daughters 'as 
many beds, furniture, bed blankets, bed and table linen 
to furnish a house for their accommodation, and every 
article of furniture for that purpose,' for their sole use. 
All the rest that they did not require, and his other 
effects, such as live stock, crops, etc., were to be ' sold by 
public roup,' the interest to be paid to the widow and 
unmarried daughters during their lifetime, or if any of 
the daughters married, to the remaining unmarried 
ones ; and at the marriage or death of the last, every- 
thing was to be realised and divided equally among the 
whole of his family or their descendants share and share 
alike. After various directions as to certain shares and 
moneys, he proceeds : ' I leave a few of my books to my 
son Eobert ' — that was my father, who succeeded him 
in the ministry of the parish — ' and my thermometer to 
my son David, and my old worn-out watch to David 
Inglis, my grandson. She is worn out tvith years mid 
infirmities like myself. I leave my two razors, who have 
served me so long and so faithfully, one to David and 
the other to Eobert; any other small articles as a re- 
membrancer to each of my five daughters.' What a 
picture of the kindly, compact, old manse home-life do 
not these quaint, pathetic touches present ! 

A^fter constituting his two sons and two of his old 
elders executors and trustees, he proceeds : ' I regret it 
was not in my power to leave more to my family. I 
wish that they should all share equally as far as possible. 
I commit my soul and body to the holy keeping of 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 135 

Almighty God, hoping and believing that when the wise 
purposes are served with me here on earth, my body 
shall rest in the hope of a glorious resurrection, and my 
Immortal Soul, through the merits, righteousness, and 
mediation of Jesus Christ our Blessed Eedeemer, shall 
be exalted to Heaven to enjoy the Beatific Presence 
until the morning of the resurrection, when my body 
shall be raised from the grave by the Voice of the Son 
of Grod, and soul and body shall be exalted to the King- 
dom of Heaven, to celebrate the praises of Redeeming 
Love throughout the endless ages of eternity.' What a 
splendid confession of triumphant faith ! The fine old 
man then concludes thus : ' I fervently pray that God 
in His mercy may spare me a little longer in the world 
for the benefit of my family, and while I live may I live 
to His praise, and prove a useful and faithful minister 
in His church, and may I at last die in His favour 
through merits of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour. 
Amen.' 

There is a postscript which gives a very graphic 
presentment of the kindly old man's state of mind. ' I 
most earnestly recommend to my two sons, David and 
Eobert,' he writes, 'be as attentive to their mother and 
their unprovided sisters as you possibly can be. Recol- 
lect what I did for my mother and sister, and also an 
aunt died long before any of you were born. I have no 
power to enjoin this duty on any person, but I most 
earnestly recommend it to you, and all of you w^ho may 
have ability, to be assisting to those of your sisters who 
may stand in need of assistance. Your affectionate 
father, 

'David Inglis.' 



136 FUNERAL CUSTOMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 

I am sure little comment is needed. The old man 
may have left little worldly gear — indeed with his poor 
stipend, his large family, and his open, generous hospitality 
at all times to all comers, it was wonder he left any 
provision at all — but he left a priceless heritage in his 
honest name, his deep piety, his earnest faith, and his 
warm, affectionate, kindly Christian character. The 
story I have been privileged to write of his son's life 
proves, I think, that the fine old Glen minister's example 
and precepts had not altogether been vainly given. 



CHAPTER VIII 

RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

Modern progress and old-time customs: a contrast — 'The change- 
less East': a retrospect — The law of change — One of the 
old school — The old-time shell-fish sort of existence — In- 
stances — The old farmer and the silver spoon — ' Clean beats 
Fittie ' — 'A naiteral deith ' — A luxurious dinner — The 
pawky weaver — Peter's rat case — No a maisterpiece — 'The 
wonnerfu' works o' natur' ' — Poverty of expression — The 
pawky shepherd and the barber. 

Some of the anecdotes I have already given, may have 
appeared to some of my readers almost apocryphal, and 
for this reason : Changes have been so rapid in not only 
the realm of thought and feeling, but in the very out- 
ward aspect of things, that it is hard to bring one's mind 
to realise that such a primitive state of society existed 
within the compass of an ordinary lifetime, as some of 
these stories disclose. To my younger readers especi- 
ally, will the humour often seem strained, the manners 
uncouth, and the incidents forced and exaggerated. 
Those who are older, and more of my own age, will 
however bear me out if they tax their recollections, and 
summon up boyish memories of the older stock as I have 
done. To young folks nowadays who have, compara- 



138 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

tively speaking, travelled about, and seen the world; 
who have enjoyed the advantages of modern education 
and rapid transit ; to whom the daily Press brings nigh 
' the ends of the earth ' almost every hour, and to whom 
scientific research and the abounding wealth of modern 
art, literature, and invention, have opened new worlds 
of thought, speculation, and experience, it is very diffi- 
cult indeed to enter into these quaint, bygone attitudes 
of mind and expressions of emotion, which are charac- 
teristic of this class of reminiscence. 

We are accustomed to speak of ' the changeless East ' ; 
of the iron-bound conservatism of the Chinese ; of the 
rigid trammels of caste that exist in India; of the 
unalterable customs of Persian or Arab ; but even in 
these proverbial illustrations, we often fail to realise the 
terrific ' pace ' that modern progress has ' put on.' Look 
at Japan. Go to any large city in India, or even China. 
What do you find? Modern hotels, Western dress, 
modern municipal management, the daily local Press, 
the ubiquitous policeman and police courts. Eailways, 
telegraphs, telephones — typewriters even, and 'tinned 
salmon.' Away in the back villages of Behar, on the 
frontiers of native states, or among the thick jungles of 
the Terai, you may still come across the old primitive 
customs ; but even there, change is apparent, and the old 
village arts and handicrafts, the old village laws and 
usages, the old traditions, worship, and standards of 
life and thought, are fast becoming modernised. 

In Scotland it has been the same. Here and there 
in some secluded lan'ward parish, or remote Highland 
glen, you may yet come, now and then, on some simple 
primitive community, where the modern abomination of 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 139 

a tourist hotel, with its sleek, snub-nosed tribe of splay- 
footed waiters, has not yet upreared its hateful presence, 
with the concomitants of bad whisky, and greasy ' made- 
dishes ' ; but such idyllic nooks are now rare. 

I sit "writing this in my own dear old Glen. I smell 
the fragrant sweetness of the birks round Ardoch, and 
the crimson heather is bursting into bloom. I have 
been away for thirty-two long, eventful years. The hot 
Eastern sun and the desiccating Austral winds have 
tanned my cheeks; and though tender emotions swell 
within me, and at every turn some fond recollection is 
stirred at the sight of the familiar hills and burns — at 
the sound of the old familiar names of places that I have 
not heard for more than half a lifetime, yet — yet — how 
can I express it? — things are not the same. There is 
some subtle change. There is a feeling of incomplete- 
ness — a jarring note somehow ; an undertone of extreme 
sadness — sometimes almost dejection; a dim, half-ex- 
pressed, half-denied feeling of dissatisfaction and dis- 
appointment. Are the great swelling hills really 
smaller and barer-looking, or is it only my fancy 1 The 
Esk and the Mark and the Tarf are the same; the 
tawny, yellow waters come bounding and foaming over 
the gray rocks as of yore; and yet, somehow, the 
channels seem narrowed and the volume decreased. 
Ah ! the dear old faces, too ! how many are gone ! The 
peat stacks seem fewer. There are no thatch houses 
now left in the Glen, save one or two that are moulder- 
ing to decay. Stone cottages have taken their place. 
Trim, neat, substantial 1 Yes, with tropseolum climbing 
like embracing flames about the front, and honeysuckle 
running riot over the enclosing dykes of the kailyards. 



140 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

As cosy looking'? as 'canty and crouse' and 'bien- 
like ' as the lowly theek hoosies of old 1 No ! I do not 
think so ! 

And the old kindly, hearty, frank, simple, spontaneous 
loving-kindness and large-hearted generous hospitality of 
the dear old days, seems, too, to have for the most part 
passed. Not altogether. Some of the essentially ' hame 
ower folk' are still left, and oh ! what a charm to enjoy 
their unaffected, warm-hearted, unstudied directness. 
Here at a humble farmhouse, for instance, behind the old 
manse where once my grandfather and my father dwelt, 
overlooking the quiet kirkyaird where reposes the dust 
of generations of my forbears, under this hospitable 
roof of Auchronie, in converse with the dear, gentle- 
mannered old lady, who presides so sweetly over the 
well-furnished tea-table, in quite the old unstinted style, 
a leaf out of the past is turned back, and the visions of 
boyhood return again. 

But this is the exception. Elsewhere it is much on 
the 'naething-for-naething, and michty- little -for -sax- 
pence ' plan. You are warned beforehand, long ere you 
may have made any request, that you must not expect 
this, and you need not look for that, although you are 
quite prepared to make ample, nay handsome allowance 
for any little service that may be rendered. There are 
now limitations, restrictions, conventionalities, rates, 
scales, regulations, petty greedinesses, affectations, red 
tape, and disillusionment, to a large degree, where 
formerly the all-pervading, warm, comforting feeling of 
communion, of kinship, of home warmth, and the glow 
of kindness, unstudied, unaffected, and disinterested, 
reigned supreme. 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 141 

But so it had to be. And, after all, there are no 
doubt compensations, and so the world progresses. But 
how few were the wants, how uneventful the lives, how 
restricted the horizon of these old times, the page of 
Scottish anecdote and reminiscence forcibly reminds us. 
The smallest incidents were invested with an importance 
and a significance which made up to these simple primi- 
tive folk for the more agitating sensations of the present 
time. How admirably Barrie has portrayed this, in 
that masterpiece of his, A Wiiidow in Thrums ! ' Jess ' 
and ' Leeb ' and ' Hendry ' are photographs from the life, 
yet invested with such a subtle charm from the genius of 
the author, that they become real to us — generic types — 
and they are set for ever among the great masterpieces — 
those living creations of the immortals, which adorn the 
long and splendid gallery of English literature. 

It is really a work of the rarest difficulty to empty 
oneself of one's own personality, as it were, and enter 
into the very mental being of one of these simple 
primitive folk ; and this Barrie has done. For instance, 
what is all your varied experience to one of the type 
I met but yesterday. Frail in body, rheumatic and 
tottering in his gait, but the eye is still bright, the 
voice hearty and resonant. The locks are ' lyart,' but 
the beard is thick and strong. He puffs vigorously at 
an old and very short cutty, and from very pronounced 
indications on the summer air, we can surmise that his 
nerves are still strong, for the tobacco certainly is. 
Pulling up the pony, we accost the old fellow : 
' Weel, Jock, an' how are you "? ' He peers up at us, 
takes out his ' cutty,' knocks the ' dottle ' out on his 
thumb-nail, gets quit of some saliva, wipes his lips with 



142 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

the back of his hand, and as we have been curiously 
watching the process of cogitation, and the appeal to 
recollection going on all the time, we are prepared for 
his first utterance : — 

' Dod, na ! ye hae the better o' me. Fa is't ? ' 

* D'ye no mind me 1 ' 

* No, min ! no i' ye noo, at ony rate, bit I'll mebbe 
min' in a whyllie. I ken yer face too.' 

* Aweel, Jock, ye kent me fine fin I wis a lathie.' 
Slowly a look of pleased recognition and awakened 

memory begins to play over the rugged features. The 
mouth opens, the shoulders straighten, the eyes blink 
with a sort of merry twinkle, then smiting his stick 
with both hands on the ground, he says, ' Ye'll no be 
fae foarin' pairts, are ye ? ' 'Oh yes,' we answer, ' I've 
been abroad for a long time.' 

Then comes the ripened certainty. With an emphasis 
and a heartiness that go very near raising a lump in my 
throat, the old man says : ' Dod, than, ye're Jeems ! ' 
Then my hand is grasped and pressed, and eager query 
after query is poured fast upon me ; and just for a brief 
minute one feels how deep and true a thing is kindly 
human affection after all, and a meeting like this makes 
amends for many, many a rebuff and disappointment. 

Now there are men like that, dozens of them yet 
alive, who have perhaps never had service with more 
than probably two or three masters during the whole 
course of their three or fourscore years. They are 
shrewd judges of character, they have good store of 
native common-sense ; but their , wants are few, their 
ambitions have never been stirred, they are not what 
you would call refined or educated, but they are true. 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 143 

honest, sincere, faithful. Oh, if with the modern 
accomplishments and learning, the modern breadth and 
culture and mental activity and intellectual quickness, 
we could only more increasingly and tenaciously keep a 
hold, too, of these fine old homespun cardinal virtues, 
what a world this would be ! 

However, the point I wish more immediately to 
illustrate, is the extreme simplicity, the restricted 
experience, of ' the rude forefathers ' of these secluded 
'hamlets.' I met another old resident, a sort of replica 
of ' Jock.' He had been over threescore years in the 
same house and on the same farm. Asked if ever he 
had been out of the parish, he responded with quite 
sprightly alacrity : ' Ay, aince, fin I wis a young chap.' 

' Where did you go 1 ' 

' Man, I wis aince i' Montrose ! ' (about' twenty miles 
distant). 

I happened to be going up to call at a farm some 
miles away, and was not very sure of the road, so never 
doubting but that this old, old inhabitant, would know 
every path and every soul within the radius of ten miles 
at least, I asked : ' Div ye ken where I turn off to 
So-and-so 1 ' 

' Fa bides there 1 ' said the patriarch. 

* Mrs. So-and-so.' 

' Oh ay, that's her f airm is't 1 I've often haard o' 
her but I've never seen her. The fairm's a bit aff the 
ro'd, but losh, man, I wis never up at e' tap o' e' Glen ! ' 
The farm I wished to visit was certainly not three miles 
from where we then stood. 

Now such an experience is absolutely true ; it is 
indeed becoming rare, but it was not at all uncommon 



144 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

in the times of which I have been writing. Away down 
in Galloway, in the secluded parish of Carsphairn, the 
isolation was so complete, that my cousin assured me 
that the following incident was strictly true. A 
shepherd's lassie one day came running into the lowly 
cabin to tell her mother of an entirely novel sight. 
So secluded was the spot that the poor children had 
never seen another grown-up man than their father. 
So the artless lassie called out : ' Oh, mither, here's a 
thing like feyther comin' up the ro'd ! ' 

Let me give a few more illustrations of this extreme 
rusticity and Arcadian simplicity, from my notes. The 
stories are legion of the whimsical mistakes made, for 
instance, by raw country lassies on first going to service. 
There is the case of the girl who mistook silver forks for 
'spunes a' slittit doon the back'; a case, which came 
under my own notice, of a lassie cleaning the silver 
butter -knife on the knifeboard; of Donald mistaking 
the zebra in the Zoo for 'a tartan cuddy,' and the 
young elephant for ' a muckle ingy-rubber coo, wi' a tail 
at ilka end.' There are anecdotes by the dozen of Tam 
or Jock at the wax-works, of Meg or Kirsty at the 
telegraph station, and of Sandie or Peggy at ' the play,' 
but perhaps one of the most whimsical is that related 
of an old farmer, and which, I am assured, actually 
occurred a little north of Forfarshire, in my father's 
time. One old farmer, after paying his rent, had been 
asked in to dine with the laird, an honour now conferred 
for the first time. John had never been in such com- 
pany, nor had he ever seen such grandeur. Now during 
the progress of the first course, He had conceived quite 
an afi'ectionate attachment to the fine, big, solid silver 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 145 

spoon, with which he had been ladling his soup down 
his capacious maw. In fact he had confided to his 
neighbour, an old dowager lady, who seemed much 
surprised at the confidence, that it was a ' wyse - like 
spune.' After carefully licking it clean, he laid it down 
beside his plate, with a view to further service; nor 
would he allow the amazed and indignant butler to 
remove it or even to touch it. The unsuccessful attempts 
of the precise serving-man to take away the treasured 
spoon had been giving much amusement to the observant 
company. At length, when the sweets appeared, the 
butler tried to tempt him to yield up the treasure, by 
showing him a bright, clean dessert spoon, and whisper- 
ingly endeavoured to convey to the old farmer's intelli- 
gence, that the two spoons had quite separate and 
distinct functions. But the obdurate old fellow was 
proof against all the butler's blandishments. The good 
champagne, too, had put him quite at his ease. He 
evidently had made up his mind ' to stick to a good 
thing when he had it ' ; and at length he fairly convulsed 
the quiet observers of all this comical by-play, and 
nearly caused the bland butler to explode, by saying 
very emphatically : ' Na, na, ma man, it's nae eese ' 
(use) ; ' ma mooth's as big for pudden' as it is for 
kail.' 

Another specimen of the ludicrous lack of a due 
sense of proportion, or comparison, in the rustic mind, 
is afforded by the anecdote told of two worthy cronies 
who had gone up to London during the Fisheries 
Exhibition, from Fittie (Foot Dee), Aberdeenshire. It 
was the first time in their lives they had ever been over 
a score of miles from home ; and among other places 

L 



146 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

they visited was the venerable and magnificent Abbey 
of Westminster, during the celebration of some great 
function. While gazing open-mouthed at the impressive 
pageant, with the strains of the solemn organ pealing 
down the sculptured aisles, the thoughts of one of the 
Aberdonians had evidently gone back to his native 
village, and he had been instituting some sort of mental 
comparison between the abbey and the village kirk. 
Turning to his companion, he said with delicious sim- 
plicity : ' Losh, Geordie, min, this clean beats Fittie a' 
taeBuff!' 

Another Aberdonian utterance was equally naive, 
but perhaps a little disconcerting, as being liable to some 
misinterpretation. An eminent physician, hailing from 
the granite county, had returned on a visit to his native 
parish. A poor man of his acquaintance being seriously 
ill, the doctor, whenever requisitioned, had attended 
him gratuitously, and had been very kind. Some little 
time, however, having elapsed without any summons 
for the exercise of his professional skill, and hearing 
that the patient had breathed his last, the worthy 
doctor went to call on the widow, and asked her why 
she had not sent for him as formerly. Whereupon she 
replied : ' Oh, ye see, sir, I wanted my man to dee a 
naiteral deith.' 

As illustrating the difference now existing in this 
luxurious and conventional age, in the bringing up of 
children, and the plain diet of the former age of 
rural simplicity, I may instance the following. It was 
told me by an engineer residing in Liverpool, whose 
mother, a worthy dame of the old school, lived in 
Montrose. He had sent his two boys north during 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 147 

the holidays to see their ' grannie,' and the boys were 
of course accustomed to the modern regime. The dear 
old lady had made special preparations in her simple, 
primitive way, and wishing to give the ' laddies ' a treat, 
she had prepared with her own hands, a good substantial 
currant dumpling, which, indeed, constituted the whole 
of the repast. On putting the smoking, sonsy dish 
before the two English-bred lads, she asked with a fine 
assumption of careless unconcern : — 

' Wull ye hae a bittie dumplin', lathies 1 ' 

' Yes,' said one, rather loftily and superciliously, 
' I'll take a little bit after dinner.' 

' Efter denrier, ye monkeys ? ' said the irate grannie, 
all her old Scottish susceptibilities at once aroused. 
'Hech ! this is a' yer denner.' 

It was not always safe, though, to presume too much 
on the apparently Arcadian simplicity of these homely 
country folks. A good instance of the schemer being 
discomfited is the following : — 

A pawky Forfarshire weaver had his home invaded 
one day by a lusty truculent-looking beggar, who pre- 
tended to be deaf and dumb, and went through a long 
course of exaggerated pantomime. The shrewd old 
wabster looked at him with a grim, quizzical expression. 
Next he took up the long, thin, sharp knife with which 
he was wont to trim the thrums. Then putting on an 
angry expression, he shouted to his wife : ' Kirsty, 
Kirsty, bring ben the shairpen-stane ; there's a dummy 
here wi' lots o' bawbees, an' naebody saw him come 
in.' 

The impostor took to his heels ; his deafness was 
cured. 



148 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

Another instance of the comical naivete of this 
simple old class is an anecdote recorded of one Peter 
Eeid, a celebrity of Govan. Peter had a dispute with 
one of his humble cottar -tenants, who refused to pay 
his rent, pleading as a set-off that certain goods had 
been destroyed by rats, with which the premises were 
infested. Peter summoned him before the sheriff, but 
that functionary gave the case in favour of the tenant. 
Another Govan crony meeting Peter, remarked to him : 
' Weel, Peter, I see ye've lost yer rat case.' Peter 
replied : ' Losh, man, gin the shirra had ta'en the same 
view o' the case as I did, I wud hae won 't.' 

For quiet, rustic, good-natured philosophy, how- 
ever, few instances, I think, could better the 
following : — 

An old farmer whose wife had died bethought him 
after a time that he would again try a chance in the 
matrimonial lottery. He accordingly set his mature 
affections on a lady who was almost the direct antithesis 
of his first wife. He proposed, was accepted, and got 
married. An old friend and neighbour, whose ideas of 
housewifely excellence were of a very homely and prac- 
tical character, moved by a natural curiosity, came to 
see the new mistress of his friend's establishment. He 
began at once to subject her to a very searching cate- 
chism as to the virtues of herbs and simples, the treat- 
ment of 'yowes' at lambing time, and other such 
recondite rural matters. The replies being from a town- 
bred woman, were apparently not of a very satisfactory 
character, for some short time afterwards, Avhen taking 
leave of his old crony, he said : — 

' I divna think muckle o' yer new wife, John.' 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 149 

John philosophically responded : ' Hoots, man, 
fat ails her 1 She's jist God's handiwark, ye ken, 
altho' mebbe she's no jist a'thegither His maister- 
piece.' 

A pure specimen of the raw Boeotian, however, must 
have been that old Deeside shepherd, who on his first 
visit to Aberdeen, looked with awe and amazement on 
the great expanse of ocean. Viewing the scene from 
a height near the city, he spied a stately clipper letting 
down fold after fold of her snowy canvas as she slowly 
glided out to sea. This novel sight struck him with 
added wonder. One of the ship's boats was being towed 
at the stern, and this seemed to astonish the guileless 
Corydon, even more than the heaving billows or aught 
else. Turning to his companion he gave vent to his 
wonderment in this fashion : ' Losh, Jess, arena the 
works o' natur' most wonnerfu'? bless me, even the 
vera ships hae little anes.' 

Another somewhat different estimate of the ' works 
o' natur' ' was that of the shepherd whose poverty of 
expression prevented him from rendering his feelings 
into words. He was lying on the braeside with a 
companion on a fine summer afternoon. The fair, fertile 
straths and valleys lay extended in beautiful amplitude 
beneath them. On either hand the majestic heather- 
clad hills rose range on range and tier on tier, till their 
crimson crests seemed to touch the fleecy clouds that 
threw here and there a soft shadow on the sunny slopes, 
where the sheep lay blinking in the hazy heat. It was 
a scene of wondrous beauty. The dull soul of the 
country clodhopper even, was stirred within him. He 
felt the beauty of the prospect. It stirred vague senti- 



150 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

ments within him ; it whispered poetic images to his 
mind ; but, alas ! he lacked the faculty of expression. 
Still the beauty of the vision was on him ; the compul- 
sion of poetic thought forced him to make some audible 
confession of what he inly felt. If he were only gifted 
now ! But, alas ! he was only a poor hard-worked farm 
loon. But speak he must. So, taking his short, black 
* cutty ' out of his mouth he addressed his drowsy com- 
panion thus : ' Eh, man, Jock ! arena the works o' 
natur' jist — jist — jist deevilitch 1 ' 

As an instance of the quiet, pawky. Southron humour 
of the purely rustic sort, take this :• — 

A lanky, dishevelled shepherd having been to a fair, 
had managed to get quit of his charge, the flock having 
been sold, so he determined to indulge in the luxury of 
a shave. He had never sat in a barber's chair, and he 
thought he would just for once undergo the operation, 
to see what it was like. He had a good stubble of 
nearly a week's growth, and he fancied it would be nice 
to go back to his sweetheart with a smooth, trim chin, 
at all events. So he entered the barber's shop ; and the 
barber, taking his measure at a glance, told off, as it 
was a busy day, one of the improvers to operate on the 
Arcadian tyro. The improver had not been further 
improved by sundry potations, and moreover his razor 
was about as blunt as his own manners. He fairly 
lacerated the poor shepherd, taking off almost as much 
skin as hair. The poor victim bore it as meekly as one 
of his own sheep would have borne the shears, and at 
length, when set free from the encompassing sheet, he 
gravely marched up to the mirror, then reached out his 
hand for a jug of water and took a mighty gulp. 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 151 

with which he distended his mouth, and then spat it 
out in the basin. The master barber had been eyeing 
this strange procedure, and with natural curiosity in- 
quired ' What was that for V ' Oh,' said the shepherd, 
' I wis jist tryin' if ma mooth wad baud" in.' 



CHAPTEE IX 

RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME {continued) 

The tAvo ploughmen at Alloa— A simple magistrate — The laird 
and his henchman Donald — Primitive dentistry — A rustic 
dancing-lesson — Dancie Fettes — A Paisley apologist — A testy 
farmer to his dog — The chief engineer's present — The D.D. 
and the cuddy. 

In continuation of my remarks in the last chapter anent 
the present age of universal travel, when men 'move to 
and fro upon the face of the earth' as restlessly as Satan 
himself, and when they have developed a certain Satanic 
sharpness and precocity withal, such an instance of more 
than Boeotian simplicity and ignorance as the following, 
may hardly be credible. The story goes that 'twa 
country Jocks,' regular ' hay-seed cousins ' as an Ameri- 
can would call them, men of the class I have been 
describing, who had never been far from their native 
parish, and knew little outside the rude if simple philo- 
sophy of the bothy, found themselves on one holiday 
at the primitive little semi-marine town of Alloa on the 
Forth. After gaping and gazing at all the unwonted 
sights, their wonder reached its acme when they strolled 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 153 

down to the muddy strand, and saw for the first time 
the phenomenon of the tides, and discovered that the 
water was salt. An old barge had been careened, and 
was now stranded high and dry on the bank, with its 
keel shorewards, and a plank led from its weather-beaten 
bulwark to the sward, close to the feet of our two un- 
sophisticated ploughmen. 

Never having seen such a homogeneous mass of wood 
in their lives before, and in their innocence mistaking it 
for some natural product of some prehistoric forest per- 
haps, the more daring of the two, itching for a closer 
scrutiny, cautiously crept on hands and knees up the 
plank, and then viewing the sloping deck, with its great 
gaping main-hatch yawning wide and gloomy, he nearly 
fell off the plank in his astonishment; and with eyes 
wide distended, and in awe-struck accents, he communi- 
cated to his chum on the bank the marvellous dis- 
covery he had made, in these words : ' Losh, Geordie, 
she's boss.' 

' Boss ' is a good expressive word, signifying hollow, 
empty. I have heard it used by an old Scot in a colonial 
legislature, criticising a member of the opposition. 
After a rather frothy speech the old fellow grimly said : 
* Eh, sirs, but he's terrible boss.' 

The simplicity of the ploughmen is equalled, if not 
excelled, by that of the Glasgow bailie before whom a 
case was being tried, in which the plaintiff sought to 
recover damages from a defendant neighbour for alleged 
carelessness in opening the door of a cage and allowing 
a valuable ferret to escape. The worthy bailie had 
never heard of a ferret, and did not know what sort of 
a beast it could be, but the allusion to ' a cage ' seemed 



154 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

to throw some giimmer of light on the suit. Assuming 
a wise air, he addressed the parties thus : ' It was nae 
doot wrang of you, sir, to open the door o' the cage ; 
but ye was wrang too, sir,' turning to the plaintiff; ' for 
what for did ye no clip the brute's wings % ' Case dis- 
missed. 

This reminds me of another instance of bucolic sim- 
plicity on the part of a Highland bonnet-laird, of whom 
it is related that, having occasion to leave his ancestral 
home — a heather-theekit bit o' a biggin' — on some legal 
errand, he found himself for the first time in his life a 
guest in the home of one of the great chieftains of his name. 
As fitting to his descent, being lineally of chieftain's 
blood, he had chosen to accompany him on his travels 
one of his retainers — the only one almost, in fact, he 
had left. Donal' for the occasion was dressed in full 
clan costume, but at home he generally filled the less 
ornamental but more useful rdle of general-utility man 
— looking after the sheep, castin' peats, ploughing the 
sour bit of arable land on the laird's ancestral holding, 
and such like tasks. However, the story goes that at 
last the laird, accompanied by Donal', was shown to his 
bedroom. Now the room contained one of the old- 
fashioned solid mahogany four- post bedsteads. The 
canopy was a magnificent catafalque sort of an affair, 
draped with velvet and rich brocade, and the laird, who 
had never before witnessed such a magnificent structure, 
perhaps not unnaturally fancied that the highest posi- 
tion he could attain, was also the most honourable. So, 
with Donal's assistance, he climbed up on the top of 
the canopy, and there made the best dispositions he could, 
for the enjoyment of a night's rest. Donal', honest 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 155 

man, with the natural imperturbabihty of a true 
Hielantman, turned in, on to ihe bed, nothing loath, and 
was soon wrapped in slumber and a warm pair of 
blankets. By and by the laird, who was far from com- 
fortable on his elevated perch, began to feel the cold, 
and he envied the sleeping Donald, whose melodious 
proboscis made it quite manifest to the laird that Donal' 
at all events was able to sleep. Cautiously peering 
over, he hailed his henchman, and having gained 
his hearing said : ' Od, Donal', if it wasna for the 
honour o' the thing, I wad fain come doon an' get in 
aside ye.' 

By and by, so the story goes, Donal' and the laird 
reached Edinburgh. Being 'on pleasure bent,' yet 
withal 'of frugal mind,' the laird had engaged but a 
single room for himself and faithful attendant, and after 
a day's sight-seeing they retired to their apartment. 
With a due regard to the distinction of rank, and to 
maintain his dignity, the laird took up his position in 
the four-poster with possession of the pillows ; but not 
wishing Donal' to spend as cold and comfortless a night 
as he himself had done on the canopy on a previous 
night, he told his man to put his head at the foot of the 
bed. So they disposed themselves ' heids and thraws ' 
as the saying is. Presently the laird, being mellowed 
with a good jorum of toddy, and yielding to the genial 
warmth and comfort of the well-furnished bed, said in 
rather a condescending, patronising tone : ' Weel, Donal', 
an' hoo div ye like sleepin' at my feef?' To which 
Donal', with most matter-of-fact independence, replied : 
' Ow, fine, laird ! Hoo div ye like sleepin' at mine ? ' 

Another instance of this rusticity comes to me. On 



156 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

the Clyde, opposite Eenfrew, nestles the village of 
Yoker. One of the best-known worthies of the village 
was Jeems Hervie, the proprietor of the smiddy. To 
his vocation of blacksmith, he added that of amateur 
dentist and blood -letter, and was often called on to 
exercise his skill in both these accomplishments. One 
of his patrons, an old woman, for whom the burly 
Jeems had drawn a few teeth on odd occasions, 
happened to be in Glasgow one day, and she was 
'tormentit to deith wi' the teethache.' Seeing the 
notice in a dentist's window, ' Teeth extracted,' she went 
in, submitted herself to the skilful operator, and in a 
trice, with wonderful dexterity and gentleness, she was 
relieved of the aching molar. She asked the fee. 

' Two-and-six, ma'am.' 

' What '2 ' said she. ' Hauf a croon 1 An' it sae easy 
dune 1 Auld Jeems Hervie wad hae pu'ed me a' throw 
the smiddy for saxpence ! ' 

My fellow-passenger on the Orotava, Mr. M , gave 

me another most humorous rendering of an experience 
which befel a young friend of his once in a secluded 
rural district somewhere in the south of Scotland. I 
wish I could reproduce it with the quaint drollery and 

genuine humour Mr. M infused into his narration. 

His informant was spending a holiday in this quiet 
neighbourhood, and during one of his evening rambles 
he heard a peculiar, crooning, lilting sound interspersed 
with comments and commands, as of one addressing an 
assemblage, and which seemed to proceed from a large 
barn-like building close by. Seeing the glimmer of a 
light through certain chinks, he sauntered up to the door, 
pushed it open, and peeped in. A strange sight met his 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 157 

eyes. One which formerly, however, in my young days 
might have often been seen in the Mearns. 

A row of buxom lassies in short goons and wincey 
kirtles, hair neatly snooded, and feet, arms, and head for 
the most part bare, looking the very picture of rustic 
health and comeliness, stood in line opposite to a row of 
young ploughmen and farm hands, with hair well 
creeshed, faces shining with soap and hard towelling, 
and looking, sooth to say, much more rustic and 
awkward than the bouncing lassies confronting them. 
At the end, midway between the opposing rows, sat on 
an upturned bushel-measure, a dapper little weazen- 
faced character dressed in threadbare dress suit, with 
white stockings and dancing pumps on his dainty, 
delicate feet. The dress coat was of blue cloth adorned 
with brass buttons, but it sat well on the precise, ruddy- 
cheeked, twinkling-eyed little dancing-master. 

His sharp eye at once noticed the intrusion of a well- 
dressed stranger, and he at once said : ' Oh, come awa' in- 
bye, sir ! Ye're very welcome. I'm jist pittin' my 
pewpils through their dancin' lesson. We're jist at a 
bit kintra dance, an' I aye like tae start the beginners 
wi'oot the fiddle.' 

A sharp tap with his cane on the bushel, brought the 
lads and lassies to 'attention,' and then in a chirpy 
staccato sort of croon — the noise which had at first 
attracted the visitor's curiosity — he began lilting to a 
well-known air, a continuous stream of instructions, 
explanations, encouragements, chidings, expostulations, 
and odd comments, all in rhyming cadenced time to the 
lilt he crooned without cessation — somewhat after this 
fashion : — 



158 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

Up lads, noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Up lassies, too ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Taes in a line noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Lat ilka ane boo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Toots, Jean Gibb, ye're a' wrang, you ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Ye're a' riclit noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Set till ilk ither noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Turn roond about noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
First frae tap noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleu 
Doon the middle noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Stan' back, Jock Tamson — you ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Jine haunds noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Poussette tae ither noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Back tae places noo ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Toots, yer a' wrang thegither ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 
Tam Wilkie, ye're a gowk ! 

Ta teedleum ta toodleum. 

And so the old mannikin, with wonderful vivacity, pro- 
ceeded, his keen eyes taking in every detail, noting every 
fault. With pungent, caustic, quaint interpolations the 
whimsical scene went on, and at length, perspiring, laugh- 
ing, with hoydenish interchange of rural coquetries and 
farmyard ^Zaisaw^me, not of the most refined kind, this 
most original rehearsal concluded. It was said, however, 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 159 

that the old fellow was really a most efficient dancing- 
master, and in this comically quaint and original way, 
turned out, if not Terpsichorean prodigies, at least 
passable dancers. 

Of a somewhat similar old character known as Dancie 
Fettes, who used to teach dancing in the Howe o' the 
Mearns in my young days, accompanied always by his 
son who acted as assistant-master, it is related that on 
one occasion having partaken of a very poor ' scrimpit 
tea' at the table of a notoriously parsimonious and 
stingy housewife, he very pawkily remarked to his son, 
after they had left the inhospitable dwelling : ' Aweel, 
John, if we're no nae better we're no nae waur.' As 
a bit of typical Scottish philosophy this is hard to beat. 

The vague distrust of giving a direct reply or com- 
mitting oneself to a positive statement without seeing 
fully what the result may be, which is a very common 
characteristic, even now, of the rustic Scot, is well 
shown in the following incident. The man was a stolid- 
looking fellow, and he was giving evidence in some 
police-court case. The cross-examining attorney was 
one of those sharp terrier-like 'limbs of the law,' whose 
very look sometimes bothers a witness of this rustic 
type, and he began by rather imperiously asking the 
man : ' Where were you born 1 ' 

There was absolutely nothing in the question. It 
was merely one of the stock kind used by a lawyer 
while he is making up his mind as to his line of attack. 
The poor witness, however, had an instinctive idea that 
this man was hostile. His native caution and suspicious- 
ness were fully aroused. He perspired freely, blushed 
furiously, and not exactly seeing the object of the 



160 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

question, or what it might be preparing to lead up to, 
he fenced a bit, by saying in a vague, uncertain sort of 
way that ' He cam' frae the Sooth.' 

' Yes, but where were you born 1 In Dunfermline 1 ' 

' Na, sir, I jist cam' frae the Sooth.' He evidently 
thought this was a safe non-committal answer, and he 
would do well to stick to it. 

' Yes, but what part of the South % Dumfries 1 
Berwick 1 Ayrshire ? or where 1 ' 

' Oh, I jist cam' frae the Sooth, sir.' 

This was really too much for the attorney. He 
began to rate him in no measured terms, demanding a 
categorical reply. The poor clown, now more than ever 
convinced that there was some deep design against his 
personal safety in this persistent, pitiless probing, but 
seeing no help for it, blurted out in desperation : ' Weel, 
sir, tae tell ye the plain truth, I wis born in " Paisley " ' ; 
then with intense earnestness, turning to the presiding 
magistrate, he sought to minimise the import of the 
awful admission by saying : ' But, as sure's deith, yer 
honner, I cudna help it ; I cudna help it.' 

The following is deliciously rustic and characteristic- 
ally Scottish. An old farmer mannie in Midlothian, was 
driving a calf into Edinburgh to the butcher, and was 
accompanied by his young dog, which, in his untrained 
eagerness and zeal, kept bark, barking at the heels of 
the terrified and silly calf. At length the incessant 
barking, and consequent mad, zigzag rushes of the dazed 
calf, fairly exasperated the poor perspiring man. He 
testily addressed the over-officious dog : ' Hoots, ye 
gowkit brute, what are ye bowf, bowfin' at^ It wud 
be wyser-like if ye'd gang an' fesh (fetch) a barrow.' 



RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 161 

My good old friend M'Kendrick, chief engineer of 
the s.s. Orotava, as humorous and kindly a Scot as 
ever broke a bannock, told me a most ludicrous incident 
of which an old uncle of his, a small farmer in one of 
the southern counties, was the hero. The steamer had 
called in at Colombo, and Mac had purchased various 
trifles and nicknacks from the Cingalese traders that 
swarm aboard, displaying tortoise-shell, ebony, ivory, 
and other curios. Among the commonest of these are 
models of elephants made of ebony, designed for letter 
weights, or mere mantelpiece ornaments, and M'Kendrick 
had purchased two fine large specimens as a present 
from foreign parts to his old uncle. When the vessel 
arrived at London, Mac made up the parcel and wrote 
to the old gentleman that he was sending him two 
Ceylon elephants as a present, and he was to call at the 
railway station for them. You can imagine the poor 
old farmer's amazement. He knew nothing of ebony 
ornaments. Mac had never thought there was any need 
for being minutely explicit ; but he learned afterwards 
from a cousin, that the receipt of the letter inspired the 
following outburst : ' The deil's in the fallow. Is he gaun 
clean gyte 1 Twa Ceylon elephants ! Od, bless me, 
they'll kill ilka beast aboot the ferm.' Of course the 
mystery was eventually cleared up, but the mistake is 
still kept up as a good joke against the simple old man. 

The late Thomas Constable used to tell the following 
story with admirable effect, and through the great cour- 
tesy and kindness of his son, I am able to reproduce it 
here, just as the kindly old publisher used to tell it 
himself. 

Mrs. Macknight, loquitur. She is telling the story 
M 



162 RUSTICITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 

about her husband's colleague. Half the humour con- 
sists in the excellent imitation of the dear old lady's 
voice which Mr. Constable used to render with inimi- 
table effect. Thus ran the tale : — 

'Ye'll hae heard tell o' Dr. Henry'? He wis an 
aix'lent man Dr. Henry. Deed ay ! but he wis nae 
great gun o' the Gospel. I min' yae day, when he wis 
on his w'y to the kirk, there cam on an' awfu' doon- 
pour, an' the doctor was jist dreepin' wat ; an' there wis 
yin o' the congregation that see'd him, an' he said — an' 
it was geyan smairt tae — " Aweel, aweel ! he'll be dry 
eneuch whin he gets intae the poopit." Eh ! but he wis 
an aix'lent man ! There wis yae day, whin he wis in 
the vera middle o' his sermon, an' whin he wis fair 
muvit his ain sel' by whit he wis sayin' — ay, an' he 
wad daud the cushions sae as maist to blin' the pre- 
centor whiles. Weel ! whin the stoor begoud to clear 
awa', he sees a wumman i' the middle o' the kirk 
dichtin' her een twa or three times wi' her naipkin, an' 
syne boo doon rael afFeckit like. " Weel," thinks he 
tae himsel' (that's Dr. Henry, ye ken), " I maun fin' oot 
whit pairt o' my discoorse has produced this efFeck — I 
maun e'en speir at Maggie hersel'." So whin the morn's 
morn wis come, he maks his w'y to the wee bit hoose 
whaur Maggie bided. An' whin he gangs in he says : 
"Guid mornin', Maggie. Hoo's a' wi' ye the day?" 
" Oo brawly, sir. Hoo are ye yersel' 1 " says Maggie. 
An' syne she dichts a chyre, so's it suldna syle the 
minister's black claes, ye ken. An' then Dr. Henry 
he sits doon, wi' a look o' dignity quite peculiar tae 
himsel'. " An'," says he — that's the minister tae Maggie, 
ye ken — "I've aye observit, Maggie," says he, "that 



BUSTIGITY OF THE OLDEN TIME 163 

ye're a vera reg'lar attender at the kirk." " Aweel, I'm 
sure, sir," says Maggie, " that I dae nae mair than my 
duty in that respeck ! " "That's vera true," says Dr. 
Henry — that's the minister tae Maggie, ye ken — "but 
'deed it's no ilka yin that dis their duty, Maggie. But 
I've observit, Maggie, that ye're no only a very reg'lar 
attender at the kirk, but that ye p'y parteec'lar atten- 
tion to my discoorse. Indeed, I observit yesterday at 
the forenune's diet that there wis yae pint o' my dis- 
coorse that seemed to hae a parteec'lar efFeck upon you 
Maggie, an' so I've just come this mornin' to learn frae 
yer ain lips what pint it wis, Maggie." "Ah weel, 
sir," said Maggie — that was Maggie tae the minister, 
ye ken — " I really culdna tell ye that, sir." " Oh, but 
I maun hear it," says Dr. Henry. "'Deed sir," says 
she — that's Maggie to the minister — "ye maunna be 
angry wi' me; but indeed I culdna tell ye that, sir." 
"Toots, wumman, but I maun hear it," says Dr. 
Henry. "Weel, sir," says Maggie, "if ye maun hae it 
— but indeed ye maunna be angry wi' me, sir ! — I'm but 
a puir lane weeda' wumman. Whan the guidman wis 
leevin', ye see we hed a bit gairden, an' we keepit a 
cuddy — an' I wad gang wi' the cuddy to the toon an' 
to the market, an' sell a'thing oot o' the gairden, an' 
syne I'd come back, an' eh, sir, but we wis rael happy 
thegither. Weel, sir, the gudeman's deid, an' they've 
stown awa' the cuddy, an' it's been sair times wi' me ; 
an' weel, sir — 'deed ye maunna be angry wi' me, sir ; 
but whan your vyse reaches a certain pitch, sir, it aye 
pits me in min' o' my puir cuddy ; an' — an' (sobbingly), 
'deed, sir, ye maunna be angry ; but — but — I canna 
help it."' 



CHAPTEE X 

OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

The kindly relationships of the old time — A tactless guest in Glen- 
esk — Modern precocity — John Macrae — The old Highland 
keeper — Outspoken criticism — Robbie and the railway — Sandie 
and the French honne — A pawky butler — Old Andrew's caution 
about the cabs — A matter-of-fact Abigail — Deeside candour — 
One from the Antipodes — Jock and the reid herrin' — A quaint 
definition — Personal good fortune with servants — Length of 
service and fidelity — Illustrations — Old George the gardener — 
Lessons to be learned from such humble records. 

We constantly hear nowadays and on all hands that 
the fine old faithful breed of servants has died out. It 
would seem as if faith in disinterestedness had fled — as 
if mutual trust and confidence between master and man 
had taken flight. I think, however, it may be taken as 
a solemn truth that wherever confidence has been lost, 
it is mainly because it has been betrayed. It is a plant 
of tender and of slow growth, and a rude breath or 
nipping chill can easily stunt it. Any long-continued 
cold draught will assuredly kill it. It would perhaps 
not be altogether profitless — I am sure it would be 
interesting — to hear what the servants have to say about 
the fine old courtly and considerate breed of masters 
and mistresses. For one thing, the modern apostle of 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 165 

Progress, who is not uncommonly too, the Cassandra-like 
croaker and prophet of evil, fulfilling a Janus-like func- 
tion, telling us the past was bad but the future is likely 
to be worse, is opposed on principle to the use of the 
good old phrase master and man, or master and servant. 
I was once taken soundly to task by an eloquent ex- 
member of Parliament in Australia, who had been asked 
by the chairman of a large public meeting to propose a 
vote of thanks to me for a lecture I had just delivered. 
My subject had been 'Servants and Service.' I had 
tried, according to my lights, to give the true ideas, 
the real, essential, underlying principles of all true 
service : how both the rendering and the accepting of 
service implied no one-sidedness, but that the compact 
was a mutual one. But my friend, who yet hoped to 
climb back into Parliament by the help of the working- 
man vote, waxed eloquent in withering indignation at 
my daring to use the obsolete and discredited term 
Master. With fine scorn he declared he would own 
no master. ' There were no masters or servants nowa- 
days. I should have spoken of employer and employed.' 
What sorry fustian ! It is this persistent degradation 
of the fine, old, kindly community of interest, the human 
contact involved in the old ties, the warm sympathy 
and mutual trust and interdependence that was so much 
a feature of the old regime, both in the house, the store, 
and the workshop, that made the connection so lasting 
and so strong. The mere cash nexus, which is the only 
one that our modern demagogue or our purblind poli- 
tical economist will recognise, is as brittle as glass, and 
as inelastic as a withered stick. 

The meanness of some of the ill-bred parvenus who 



166 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

have risen from the ranks, and their want of tact, are 
very quickly noted by the servants. There are no 
keener observers than the oftentimes despised occupants 
of the servants' hall. Among the old-fashioned class 
of Scottish servants, too, there was often a rare delicacy 
and a keen sensitiveness, that coarse-grained people 
could scarce realise. I heard up in Glenesk an instance 
of such coarse-grained maladroitness on the part of a 
well-to-do gentleman, whose name was withheld, which 
exemplifies how utterly inconsiderate and ' shabby ' — 
using the word in its Scottish sense to signify ' mean ' — 
even an educated man, occupying a good public position, 
can be. On one occasion he had taken possession of the 
rooms at a secluded home near the loch, occupied by a 
fine stalwart farmer and his dear old mother, who, 
in her young days, had seen service in my father's 
manse. The party had been welcomed with true 
Highland hospitality. For fully three weeks they 
occupied the best rooms, turned the usual quiet routine 
of the humble home completely topsy-turvy, and at 
the end of their stay the stupid man crowned his selfish 
and inconsiderate conduct, by actually off'ering to the 
dear old dame, the lordly douceur of — what think you, 
gentle reader ? — a whole half-crown ! As the stalwart 
host said afterwards, in telling the story to a 
friend : ' We wantit nothing, sir ; the man was welcome 
for his very name's sake ; an' if he wished to pay for 
what was freely-rendered hospitality, that was for his 
own sel' to conseeder. But dang the man, tae ofi'er my 
old mother hauf-a-croon. Toots, toots, sir, it was a 
puir, puir thing to do.' It would have been far better 
to have off'ered nothing at all. 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 167 

A rather whimsical illustration of the fact that the 
question of service has two sides however, is illustrated 
by the following incident. An Aberdeenshire 'loonie,' 
applying for a situation, was requested to bring a ' letter 
of character' from his minister or schoolmaster, and 
return with it in the afternoon, when, if all was satisfac- 
tory, he would likely get the vacant position for which 
he was applying. Two days passed, but there was no 
reappearance of the boy. At length the shopkeeper, 
who had been really attracted by the lad's bright ap- 
pearance, happened to meet him in the street, recognised 
him instantly, and at once asked him ' why he had not 
come back with his certificate of character.' ' Weel, 
sir,' replied the precocious juvenile, ' afore gettin' hame, 
feth, I got your charackter — an' ah'm no comin'.' 

Among the old type of servants — those of the Caleb 
Balderstone and Andrew Fairservice order — there was 
none of that sleek obsequiousness, that exaggerated 
deference, that inordinate mock humility which is de- 
manded from domestics by the parvenus and nouveau 
riche that arrogate to themselves the 'chief places in 
the synagogue ' of our modern social fabric, at watering- 
places and other fashionable resorts. The old-fashioned 
Scottish servant was a man, not a flunkey. He was 
allowed to have feelings and opinions of his own, and he 
or she was frequently not at all backward in showing the 
one, or freely expressing the other ; but always at the 
back lay great loyalty and afi'ection,'and a sincere, honest 
regard for the master's honour and the best interests of 
the family. 

Numberless instances of this trait might be cited. 
The best stories of the kind have doubtless been told 



168 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

already, but there is such a strong element of living, 
human interest in these old-fashioned relationships and 
mutual attachments, that one may well be pardoned if 
he can add a few more pebbles to the already goodly 
cairn of servant stories, heaped up by past wayfarers 
and pilgrims in the path of Scottish story and reminis- 
cence. 

As an example of the frank, independent spirit of the 
old-time servant, and their fearless, ready outspokenness, 
so different from the silky, fawning, oriental obsequious- 
ness of the typical modern flunkey, let me give a couple 
of instances detailed to me by a douce Highlander, John 
Macrae, head gamekeeper to my cousin George, at The 
Eetreat in Glenesk. John himself has been a good many 
years with his generous master, and, indeed, every year 
as the grouse season comes round, one may safely predict 
that the same honest, pleasant faces may be seen, both in 
kitchen and on the moors, rendering loyal and faithful 
service to a kind and considerate master. Here, in fact, 
is exemplified what Shakespeare (in As You Like It) 
calls — 

The constant service of the antique world, 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
. . . not for the fashion of these times, 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having. 

I was taking a cast for salmon one fine day early in 
August down by the pool of Keenie, on the North Esk, 
while waiting the arrival of the grouse -shooting con- 
tingent, and John was in attendance with the gaiF. He 
comes from Strathconan, and had many a quaint story of 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 169 

Highland life to tell me, while he also indulged in much 
shrewd questioning about my wanderings in the East, 
and life in Australia. Gradually the conversation drifted 
round to the subject of service. John spoke with 
evident feeling and real attachment of his present master, 
my warm-hearted cousin George, and I enjoyed some 
very shrewd and racy criticisms on one or two of the 
other keepers in the district, and a very correct and 
pawky estimate of the characters of several of my 
cousin's guests. John did not probably know that he 
was in reality being interviewed by an ex- journalist, yet 
such was the case. I am not, however, going to betray 
Sj confidence so pleasantly and innocently given. 

One or two of his reminiscences about an old head 
keeper in a Highland establishment, a regular old 
retainer, under whom John had graduated as a gillie, 
were very characteristic, and bear on the subject at 
present under discussion. 

On one occasion, at the opening of the shooting season, 
the old fellow was accosted in a patronising style by a 
pursy, fussy, self-important egotist, who was evidently 
no great favourite. In reply to his condescending 
inquiry after the old keeper's health, came the following 
unaccommodating reply : — 

'Oh, ah'm fine, thank ye. But, save's a', yeh^e sair 
failed, and far owre fat.' 

To another Cockney guest, with whom he had toiled 
nearly half a day to bring him within fair shooting 
distance of a lordly stag, only to see the tyro sportsman 
make a most palpable and humiliating miss, he was 
equally frank and direct. The young man, instead of 
honestly admitting his own inaccuracy and inexperience. 



170 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

began to make a minute and ostentatious inspection of 
the rifle with which he had made such a miss. Donal', 
with a very sour, disgusted expression, watched this 
affectation for a moment, then dryly said, with a strong 
Highland accent — 

' Iss the riffle goot, sir 1 ' 

' Oh yes ! ' was the forced admission. 

'Och, then, you pe no goot.' 

My cousin David, now a Shetland laird, has evi- 
dently learned the old Glen secret of securing the 
attachment and the ' constant service ' of these humbler 
retainers, on whose goodwill and fidelity so much that is 
sweetest and most homelike- about home life really 
depends. At any rate he has been fortunate in having 
had few changes in his mdnage. One old servant, Peggy, 
has been with him over twenty years. His factotum, 
however, is the Robbie already mentioned, a Shetlander, 
who under a somewhat pawky assumption of extreme 
simplicity really hides keen observation and much shrewd- 
ness. One is never sure how far Robbie's acts and utter- 
ances are the outcome of pure innocence or sly artfulness. 
At any rate he is devoted to his master ; is industrious, 
willing, honest, and faithful to a degree. It may illus- 
trate his simplicity if I relate his earliest experience 
with the railway, when first he visited the South with 
his master, now some two decades ago — for he has never 
been in any other service but the one. He was but a 
simple-minded rustic, never having been beyond the 
narrow confines of Shetland. They came to Aberdeen 
by boat, and at the Granite City the party had, of 
course, to take to the train to get to Edinburgh. The 
train was just about to start, and one of the young ladies 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 171 

said : ' Come, get in now, Eobbie, we are about to start.' 
Poor Eobbie betrayed his verdancy, but his true delicacy 
at the same time, by saying : ' Na, na. Miss ! it's no for 
the like o' me. I wad like tae tak' an ootside saet an' 
see the kintra.' 

David tells me, too, a characteristically professional 
view of things taken by an old shepherd of his father's. 
It so happened that some friends of high station — 
' quality folks of high degree ' — had been paying a visit 
up the Glen in the old hospitable days, which I have 
tried to describe in Dor Ain Folk In attendance on the 
lady was a fat French bonne, and she betrayed her 
Parisian inclinings and Gallic ways by a variety of 
affectations, and played off her little coquetries on the 
lamb-like shepherd swains whom she met in the old 
farm - kitchen. A picnic had been organised to visit a 
favourite spot at the top of the Glen, which involved the 
climbing of a pretty high hill, whence, however, a magni- 
ficent view rewarded the climbers for the rather steep 
ascent. The buxom bonne was made over to the care of 
my young cousin David, and old Sandie the shepherd. 
Sandie was very undemonstrative, very matter-of-fact, 
and utterly proof against all feminine blandishments — of 
the Parisian type at all events. All the pretty attitudes 
and pouting moues and captivating affectations of the 
bonne, could not hide the plain unaccommodating facts 
that the day was hot, the climb was steep, she was 
heavy, and Sandie had to exert all his strength to haul 
her up the hill. At length he paused to wipe the 
beaded perspiration from his bald head, and with a keen 
professional eye, having gauged the plump proportions 
of his fair, fat, and frolicsome charge, he said admiringly 



172 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

to David : ' Eh, Dauvit man, she's in graund order for 
winterin'.' 

An instance of the Caleb Balderstone type is that 
related of the old butler, who, thinking the guests were 
sitting rather long at table, and that the cellar would 
proportionately suffer, gave the company rather a strong 
hint by gravely announcing, to his hospitable master's 
mortification : ' If ye please, sir, the kerridges are a' 
yokit, an' ah'm thinkin' the drivers '11 be wearyin'.' 

The same fearless independence and kindly aplomb 
characterised the utterance of the somewhat spoilt old 
butler who had been sent to order a cab for 'Maister 
Walter,' a young barrister, who had been dining at the 
house of his rich uncle. Old Andrew, the butler, had 
been ' preein' ' on his own account, and what with liberal 
tastin's of the fruity port and old claret, corrected by a 
modicum of mellow whisky, he was in that confidential 
stage when all that is kindly comes to the surface. 
Master Walter having known him ever since he had any 
recollection of his uncle's house, and being moreover 
a favourite with Andrew, the old fellow was disposed to 
be genially effusive. Helping on the young man with 
his coat in the hall, and receiving the liberal tip which 
accompanied the slight service, he waxed gushingly 
familiar and confidential. Beckoning Mr. Walter with 
a mysterious forefinger and a solemnly inscrutable nod, 
he drew him aside and whispered to him : — 

'Maister Walter (hie), I've kent ye ever sence ye 
was that heich,' holding his hand at a very unsteady 
height from the floor. ' An', Maister Walter (hie), ye 
sud aye stick tae the yae drink. Eh, man, I ken a' 
aboot it. But noo, Maister Walter, jist a wird (hie) 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 173 

o' caashion.' Then, very solemnly : ' Man, whin ye gang 
ootside, ye'll see twa caabs (hie). Tak' the first yin, the 
ither yin's no there.' 

One of the most delicious of the old servant stories, 
however, is that told of an old valetudinarian laird on 
Tweedside, whose faithful and devoted housekeeper was 
a matter-of-fact, unromantic Abigail, of an intensely 
practical turn of mind. She was just a perfect example 
of the type we have been considering. Like many aged 
invalids, the somewhat ' peekin' ' laird was always antici- 
pating his own speedy demise. ' Ah, Nancy,' he said one 
day, coming over an oft-repeated querulous deliverance, 
' I'm thinkin' that it canna be lang noo ; I'm jist f eelin' 
as if this vera nicht the end wad come.' 

'Weel, indeed, laird,' said the unemotional Nancy, 
' if it wir the Lord's wull, it wad be rael convenient, for 
the coo's gaun tae cauve, an' I dinna weel see hoo ah'm 
tae fin' time tae 'tend on ye baith.' 

The uncompromising bluntness of the old school is 
well illustrated, too, in the anecdote of the Deeside 
farmer's-man, Jock, while it also displays that trait of 
pawky cunning which is not less truly characteristic. 

A gentleman ' frae the Sooth ' had just purchased a 
horse from the farmer, and after the price had been paid 
over, not before, Jock was asked to accompany the 
purchaser to hand over delivery of the animal. On the 
way to the field — or as it is always called thereabouts 'the 
Park ' — the stranger gave Jock a handsome douceur and 
began questioning him about his recent purchase. 

' Ye'll ken the horse weel aneuch, Jock 1 ' 

' Hoot, ay, I weel a' wat div that ! ' 

' But you think I've made a good bargain, do you not?' 



174 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

' Weel,' said Jock, with a fine air of candour, as if the 
gratuity made it incumbent on him that he should dis- 
charge his conscience, 'I maun tell ye he his jist twa 
fauts.' 

' Oh, indeed ! and what might they be 1 ' 

' Weel, jist, he's nae vera guid tae tak' cot o' the 
''Park'" 

' Oh ! rather hard to catch is he ? Well, that perhaps 
would not matter much. He might not have much run 
of a park now, with me. But what is the other fault ? ' 

'Weel, sir' (very dryly), 'he's jist nae vera muckle 
eese (use) fin' he is ta'en oot.' 

Of course everything in connection even with the 
best and most faithful of the old type of servants was 
not absolutely idyllic. There were bad specimens then 
as well as now, and trials of temper were no doubt 
frequent, so long as carelessness, untidyness, laziness, 
and impudence were likely to be manifested. So, if the 
servants were outspoken and unsophisticated, the mistress 
or master was no less emphatic, and used plain blunt 
directness of speech if it were required. 

Here is a servant story from the Antipodes which I 
think may be new to home readers. It is told of a quick- 
tempered Scottish emigrant serving-woman in a colonial 
hotel, where no doubt the manners and the language 
were rather rough. The poor girl had little time to 
herself, and had to move about pretty quickly at meal- 
times to supply the wants of the hungry legion who used 
to 'rush' the long dining-room — the word 'rush' 
being used in gold-diggers' parlance. There happened to 
be staying at the hotel a spurious sort of decayed gentle- 
woman, who gave herself intolerable airs, and aped 



OLD-FASHIOXED SEBVAXTS AXI) SEJRVICE 175 

gentility, though possessing none of its consideration for 
others. She was constantly giving extra trouble to poor 
over-worked Mary by coming in after the meal was 
well over, and then rather imperiously demanding hot 
viands, hot plates, etc. One day Mary sent word by her 
little girl that dinner was ready. The would-be fine 
dame, wanting to finish her novel, sent back a lacka- 
daisical reply to keep dinner for her, as she was not 
ready. Mary in the vehemence of her irritation blurted 
out : ' Oh, tell her to come to her denner at aince, or 

she can gang to h , whichever she likes.' Presently 

in comes her ladyship fuming and flouncing, and haughtily 
asked Mary ' if she had had the impertinence to tell her 

little girl, that she, Mrs. E , might go to Hades.' 

'Weel, weel,' said Mary, 'I'm sure if I did, there wis nae 
great hairm, for, if a' stories be true, the vera best o' 
quality folk maistly a' gang there.' 

Of the order of hoihy stories, several of which I have 
given in Oor Am Folk, the following is rather a tj^pical 
specimen. It is told of a parsimonious old farmer in the 
Mearns. He was so notoriousl}^ stingy that ploughmen 
shunned his farm, and would not take serWce there. His 
usual course was to ofter an advance of some ten shillings 
on the usual hiring fee, and having secured his man, he 
proceeded to take it out of him, by feeding him so badly 
as to provoke the unfortunate fellow, after a more or less 
prolonged probation, to throw up his situation in disgust. 
B}^ so doing he of coiu-se forfeited his wages, and the 
cunning old hunks of a miserly farmer thus seciu'ed a 
certain amount of service for nothing. On one occasion, 
however, he met his match. The new man had been 
engaged at a more than ordinarily liberal fee, and 



176 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

tackled to his work with a will. He was not long 
however ere he discovered the character of his new 
master. Morning, noon, and night he was regaled with 
the saltest of ' reid herrin's.' Eemonstrance was of no 
avail. Jock was told there was nothing better for him ; 
but as he did not wish to throw up his place in the 
middle of the term and forfeit his wages, he met cunning 
with cunning. The fields he had to plough extended 
upwards in a long incline from a bright sparkling burnie 
which was the boundary of the farm. Jock seeing how 
the land lay, in more senses than one, ceased grumbling 
at his thirst-provoking provender, but as soon as he found 
himself nearly three-quarters up the hill, and at a good 
distance from the 'burn,' he made excuse to stop his 
team, and would then saunter slowly down the 
field to the burnside, where he slaked his thirst, and 
then leisurely resumed his interrupted task. This 
did not suit the avaricious old farmer at all, but on 
venturing to remonstrate, Jock met him with such an 
apparently guileless, open, good-humoured face, and 
pleaded his awful thirst, that the farmer was taken 
rather aback. 

'Man,' said Jock, 'I've an awfu' drouth on me. I'm 
thinkin' it maun be thae reid herrin'.' 

'Ay, an' div ye no like reid herrinT queried the 
farmer, hoping to pick a quarrel with his man, and thus 
force him to leave. But Jock was too wary. 

' Oo ay ! I like naething better nor reid herrin',' said 
he. 'Dinna cheenge the reid herrin' for me. I like 
them fine, but, ye see, sir, they aye like to be soomin'.' 

Jock's diet was changed to something less drouth- 
inspiring, and he managed to stay on till Martinmas. 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 177 

I have heard many curious definitions, but the 
following, I think, deserves to be recorded for its quaint, 
unconscious humour. 

The mistress of the farm was wont to question the 
boys on Sunday afternoon, upon the morning's sermon 
in church. The subject for the day had been moral 
responsibility, and young Geordie, whose chief duty was 
to keep the craws from the standing crops, was asked 
to define 'responsibility.' 'Weel, mem,' said the un- 
sophisticated Geordie, ' it's when yer troosers is hadden 
up wi' yae button an' a preen.' 

I have myself, both in India and Australia, been 
exceptionally fortunate in winning the attachment of 
faithful friends, among all classes of workers. In India 
my body-servants were loyal and devoted to a most 
touching degree, and a sincere aff'ection subsisted between 
us on both sides. In Australia, we have had very few 
changes in our domestic establishment, and one faithful 
maid has been in constant, unbroken, and loyal service 
with my wife for twenty-one years. In my business as 
a merchant I have a host of loyal and affectionate 
co-workers, many of whom have never had another 
employer than myself in the Colony, since their leaving 
the dear old country. 

Writing to Sydney friends I noted the same thing 
in connection with many of the places I visited, and the 
people I have known in the old land. Drawing a 
contrast between England and Australia I said, inter alia : 
It is true that in some matters of social legislation, in 
law procedure relating to transfers of property, in the 
recognition of individual rights and in other notable 
respects, we are in advance of England, but the old 

N 



1*78 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

motherland is by no means the drowsy, stagnant, un- 
progressive centre some of our ' Domain howlers ' and 
professional preachers of secession seek to proclaim. It 
is indeed most stimulating to the intellect, to note the 
changes and mark the progress in this old land, that 
thirty years have made in almost every department of 
human activity, and especially in all that pertains to cor- 
porate action and the sphere of municipal management. 

The zest is heightened, too, as one sees side by side 
with this modern activity of county council — this sleep- 
less vigilance of boards of health — this splendid industry 
of numberless other boards formed for the furtherance 
of advanced modern ideas, which are all making in the 
direction of improving the conditions of massed human 
life in great cities — how persistent are some of the old 
habits and institutions, and what a stability and perma- 
nence one finds underlying even all the most whirling 
evolutions of change. One's sensations and perceptions 
are continually being sharpened on this whetstone of 
striking contrast. You read of mass movements in 
great industries, which on the surface almost presage 
revolution. You get into quiet converse with the units 
of the mass, and you are amazed to discover habitudes 
and associations which tell of a deep, abiding conserva- 
tism, and which enables you to find the key to many of 
the chambers, if not all, of that English orderliness and 
love of constitutional propriety which is at once the envy 
and the desire of many other peoples. 

Just let me give a few illustrations in respect of the 
relations of master and servant alone. In this old- 
fashioned but most comfortable hotel, which has been my 
pleasant headquarters in England (Morley's, Trafalgar 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 179 

Square), we find that one old factotum, ' George ' (such a 
character as Dickens would have loved to depict), has been 
for wellnigh forty years a servant attached to this one 
establishment. Trer,' one of the old waiters, and a few 
others have been over twenty years in the same employ. 
Emma, the head housemaid, has been eighteen years. 
Many of the waiters, porters, maids, and servants 
generally, have been over ten years in the house. In 
the house of one dear old lady in Edinburgh, with 
snowy hair and all the graces of the old courtly rSgime, 
though advancing years have dimmed for ever the light 
of her gentle eyes, we found that the kitchen servants 
had been some score of years in the one service. The 
housemaid, who had accepted service when the young 
married couple started housekeeping, is now the 
honoured, faithful companion, having never had any other 
mistress during her long life. The old gardener had died 
in harness, after, wellnigh a lifetime of devoted loy^l 
service. The story of his attachment and devotion was 
very touching. When over seventy, and rendered very 
frail by his weight of years, he expressed a wish one 
day to be permitted to ' go home to lay down his bones ' 
as he expressed it. He had a brother and some relations 
in Banffshire, and the strange homing instinct had come 
over the old man. The longing for home, which the 
Germans so beautifully call Heimweh, had come upon 
him. His gentle, white-haired, old mistress said : ' Well, 
George, I had thought that only death would part us 
now ! ' The old man knew perfectly well that his race 
was run, and touchingly assured his honoured mistress 
that indeed it was just that messenger that had come to 
call him. It was a correct premonition. He went home 



180 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 

to the old, early, earthly home, that after the lapse of over 
half a century had still such a tender compulsive power 
to draw him thither. In a couple of short months the 
faithful old servant had exchanged the labour and the 
toil of earth, for the rest and the perfect service of the 
Master's home above. 

At Helensburgh we found another instance of this 
touching community of kindly feeling. In one pleasant 
home there, the maid had been twenty years in the one 
house. In the lovely home of my only surviving aunt I 
found still remaining, old servants whom I had known in 
the same service in the old farmhouse thirty years ago, 
and on the estate several cottages, cosy and comfortable, 
in which dwelt the shepherds and other old servants 
whom I remembered from my boyhood, and who are 
now being loved and rewarded for wellnigh a lifetime of 
honest, faithful service. 

In my own brother's house at Eeigate he has servants 
— they may well be called friends — who have numbered 
more than a score of years in the one employ. Indeed, 
in some of the busy eating-houses of London, and in 
many of its clubs, one of my travelling companions tells 
me, he has been accosted by old servants whom he has 
met for the last ten or a dozen years during his various 
visits, still faithfully filling the old posts of trust. In 
many of the warehouses and shops of the city such is 
also the case. 

I paid a filial visit to a sequestered nook near the old 
ruined castle of Edzell, nestling 'neath the budding beech 
and horse-chestnut trees, shadowed by the swelling 
Grampians, and within hearing of the murmurous ripple 
of the running river, winding amid the graceful drapery 



OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND SERVICE 181 

of birch and hazel. There rests the honoured dust of a 
faithful minister of the Gospel in the quiet God's acre, 
amid daffodils and daisies, and the sweet scent of lilac 
and golden furze. And almost in the shadow of the 
recording granite, at the feet of his old master, rest the 
remains of a faithful old servant of the type I am 
describing, and on the stone is carved a tribute which to 
me is eloquent of loving affection and loyal attachment. 
Thus reads the simple statement : ' Here lies the body of 
George Terrier; for thirty-eight years the faithful servant 
of the Eev. Eobert Inglis, of this parish,' etc. 

Surely such records as these may well have their 
value in this epoch of change and clashing interest, in 
this turmoil of warring tendencies and class antagonisms, 
and such a lowly stone and such eloquent instances as I 
have given of mutual trust and attachment between 
master and man, may well set even the brassiest bell- 
mouthed agitator thinking, and may well bring pause, 
while we consider whether after all, there may not be 
better methods of reconciling conflicting interests and 
assuaging class antagonisms, than the truculent methods 
so dear to the stirrer up of strifes. 

I have heard several pretty warm orations in Hyde 
Park; I have passed through several borough towns 
while a heated party fight was being waged ; but I have 
nowhere heard such rabid and ridiculous fustian as is 
often chronicled in the Australian papers, as being ranted 
by some of our so-called Australian leaders of labour. 
The reform of abuses, the onward march of enfranchise- 
ment, the removal of unjust restrictions, and the better- 
ment of the toiler, are not hindered one whit by calm, 
dispassionate advocacy; and the working men here in 



182 OLD-FASHIONED SERVANTS AND'SEBVIGE 

Great Britain, so far as I have as yet been able to observe, 
would seem to conduct their propaganda with an ever- 
present sense of self-respect, and with a dignity and 
moderation which I most fraternally commend to my 
working-man friends at the Antipodes. 

I must say that some of the reports of proceed- 
ings during recent strikes in Scotland, have caused 
me to modify the opinions I have herein expressed. 
It is most touching to me, to see the ill-advised loyalty 
with which masses of working men will stick to 
their (too often self -elected) leaders; and sadder still 
to see how these so-called leaders repay this splendid 
fidelity, by the most wanton and suicidal misdirection, 
the most utter fatuity, and the wildest misrepresenta- 
tions. This has been very apparent in the late ill-advised 
and ill-directed Scottish coal strike. 



CHAPTER XI 

DISTINCTIVE FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

Appeal to congenial spirits — A blunt invitation — The pawky 
blacksmith — A windy day indeed — Auld "Willie Millar and 
the minister — A staggerer for the sexton — Pity for the deil — 
Chay Black the poacher — Instances of dry, pawky retorts — A 
grim humourist — Deeside drollery — The Glenesk storekeeper 
— A caustic rebuke — Literal accuracy — A spirited souter — A 
disconcerted lecturer — An old hand 'on the road' — A golf 
experience — A banker's pun — Montrosian ready wit — A pro- 
vost's after-dinner eulogium — His presentation speech — Public 
spirit of the older generation — An elder's eloquence. 

I THINK that surely by this time I have adduced 
evidence enough to confirm the main portion of my 
thesis, that my fellow-countrymen are not so devoid of 
humour as some gainsayers have affirmed ; but I com^e 
now to a class of examples which even more forcibly 
and directly go to show how exuberant and how pungent 
is this delightful, subtle quality — ' the saving grace ' of 
social intercourse, as one writer has termed it. I still 
prefer to let the illustrations speak for themselves. No 
learned or laboured explanation or analysis is required ; 
but, to be sure, humour is akin to many of the finer 
human emotions ; it can only be appreciated where there 



184 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

is reciprocity. The soulless curmudgeon who hath no 
latent gleam of kindly humour lurking in his eye, over 
whose heart-strings no wa.ndering finger-tip of delicate 
humour hath ever swept, and in whose memory there 
linger not the echoes of some rippling melody of 
laughter, may lay down my humble book at once. I 
have nothing that he can assimilate. I will be to such 
an one, but as ' a vain babbler.' 

But come thou, dear reader, of ' the moist and merry 
eye,' the fair rotundity of middle age, the mobile lip, 
and eke the nose and cheek of warm and healthy hue, 
in which the network traceries of ruddy life's-blood run 
like the delicate marbling on a pippin's dainty skin ; 
ye whom the sun hath kissed, whose chests expand as 
ye drink in the fresh, life-giving air of Scotia's heathery 
hills, and who can laugh an open, honest laugh, not 
'from the teeth outwards,' but from the generous centre 
of your being; come ye, the hearty, frank, warm- 
hearted, open-handed, whole-souled 'brither Scot,' and 
let us, with what appetite we may, enjoy together still 
a little more, the varied feast, with which many a sunny 
soul in the days bygone, hath refreshed my spirit, in 
climes afar, in regions strange, and amid companions 
and conditions stranger still. 

No collection of Scottish anecdote would of course be 
complete, without a few of the multitudes, that have for 
their theme or leading inspiration, the national drink, 
I have of whisky stories ' goodly store,' and those that 
illustrate the kindly, social side of Scottish hospitality 
and neighbourly communion are innocent and enjoyable 
enough ; but just as there are elements in the ambrosial 
compound itself, which are dangerous and even poison- 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 185 

ous, if present in excess, so there are among the 
countless Scottish stories current, many that are coarse 
and base, and only appeal to what is bestial and degraded 
in those who hear or tell. Before proceeding to the 
few whisky stories, however, which I have chosen to 
select, I would like to adduce a few instances, and only 
a very few, of the shrewd, sly cunning, of a certain very 
common class of old-time Scotsmen, often accompanied 
by an eccentric, wayward, irritable temper — what we call 
'thrawn' or 'cankert' — and the exact counterpart of 
which is very seldom met with, in any other nationality. 

As an instance of what I have in my mind, take the 
direct, uncompromising bluntness of the old farmer who 
possessed little sentiment, but took life in a strictly 
economical and business-like way. An acquaintance 
happened to have called at the farm one day on busi- 
ness, and was rather surprised to receive an invitation 
to stay to dinner. The visitor, who knew the frugal 
habits of his host, amounting, in fact, to downright stingi- 
ness, replied that ' he would stay with pleasure, only he 
was afraid he would be giving a great deal of trouble.' 
Just here came in the solid, uncompromising bluntness 
and directness of the Scot. Perhaps already repenting 
of his unwonted cordiality, the farmer ejaculated : ' Dod, 
min, it's no the trubble, it's the expense.' 

A good illustration of the dry, pawky sort of humour, 
is that given concerning a village blacksmith, who was 
frequently annoyed by the petty meannesses of just such 
another parsimonious farmer as the last I have quoted, 
and who lived in the neighbourhood of the brawny son 
of Vulcan. The farmer was in the habit of dropping in 
promiscuously at the smiddy, and getting small jobs 



186 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

done by the smith, for which he never offered to pay, 
never even asked the smith to 'share a gill wi' him,' 
but was always profuse in the empty reward of voluble 
acknowledgments. ' Oh, thanks, thanks ! Thank ye, 
Tam ! Mony thanks t'ye, Tam, for that ! ' And so on. 
One winter morning, when Tam happened to be pretty 
busy, the farmer made his appearance with 'a ploo 
couter' (plough coulter) in his hand, and evidently 
expecting that he should have instant attention given 
to the petty piece of repair which it wanted. The 
smith, however, went on at the bellows, and paid no 
attention to the demand made on his time. Instead, he 
began to expatiate on the merits of a splendid game-cock 
which he had recently acquired, and with such effect 
that the farmer said : ' Losh, man, but I wad like unco 
weel to see the bird.' 'Ay, man,' very dryly responded 
Tam, ' ah'm sorry I canna lat ye see him ; it's clean oot 
o' ma pooer.' 'How's that?' said the farmer. 'Weel, 
ye see, sir, I tried feedin' the puir brute on thanks, but 
it dee'd.' 

Here is an instance of sly exaggeration, almost 
Yankee-like. Two cronies in Auchterarder were one 
day disputing as to who remembered the most windy 
day. One of the worthies said 'he minded its bein' 
sic a win' that it took the craws to come from such and 
such a field, three 'oors to flee hame to their wud,' only 
about a mile distant. The other said : ' Hech, man, 
ah've seen't that windy that the craws hed tae tvalJc 
hame.' 

As an example of quiet, dry humour, the following, 
told by old ' Red Brown ' of Paisley, a fine old Scots- 
man, well known to the fraternity of commercial travellers 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 187 

in the south of Scotland, is worthy of a place among my 
omnium gatherum. 

'I mind,' he said, 'a story o' auld Wullie Millar, 
wheelwricht an' spindle-maker at Eiccarton. He had 
been laid up for a conseederable time, an' whin he was 
gettin' convalescent, the meenister met him one day 
an' gey an' pointedly asked Wullie, hoo it wis that tho' 
he wis able to be in at Kilmarnock on the Setterday, 
yet he wis absent frae his place in church on the Saw- 
bath. Wullie wis a wee bit annoyed, an' answered 
very short. "Weel, meenister, ye see, it's jist this 
w'y. When I gang tae Kilmarnock, I can get what I 
want ; but when I gang tae the kirk I hiv tae tak' what 
I get."' 

On the same occasion of Wullie's first visit to Kil- 
marnock after his long illness, he met the provost, 
who stopped to have a chat with him. During the 
rather prolonged colloquy which ensued, the Kilmar- 
nock grave-digger, who was desirous of having a word 
with Wullie on some business of his own, came up, and, 
not wishing to disturb the conversation, he kept hover- 
ing around Wullie, trying to catch his eye. He circled 
round several times, getting closer and closer, latterly, 
in fact, almost rubbing against Wullie's coat-tails. The 
convalescent's patience at last got fairly exhausted, and, 
quite misunderstanding the reason of the poor sexton's 
attentions, he turned sharply round, and snapped out : 
'Dod, min, ye needna stan' there measurin' me. I'm 
no deicl yet, an', forbye, we dinna bury in Kilmarnock ; 
we hae grund o' oor ain in Eiccarton.' 

For a pithy-telling illustration I fancy, too, the fol- 
lowing would be hard to beat. 



188 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

A gentleman from the south had been offered a 
shooting in the Highlands for the season; but before 
finally concluding the bargain, he decided to take a 
drive out himself, so as to personally inspect the place. 
Accordingly he hired a vehicle, or, as it is always called 
in the north, 'a masheen' (machine), and on the way, find- 
ing the driver a pleasant, pawky, communicative fellow, 
he asked him point-blank ' what sort of a place he con- 
sidered the shooting to be, to which they were driving f 
The reply was certainly original, but emphatic. ' Weel, 
sir, if the deil himsel' was tethered oot there a haill 
nicht, an' ye war tae meet him i' the mornin', ye wad 
say " Puir brute ! " ' 

One of the most excellent examples of shrewd-witted 
cunning that I have come across yet, however, is a story 
told me by my friend Mr. J. B. Wood in the back- 
blocks of Australia. It so tickled my fancy, and was 
so capitally told, that I asked Mr. Wood to write it 
down for me. He is one of the j oiliest ' companions of 
the road' it has ever been my good fortune to meet, 
and hereby I render my acknowledgments for many, 
many a pleasant hour he has enabled me to pass. 

'A noted poacher,' he writes, 'Chay Black by name, 
was being tried before the sheriff in my native town, in 
one of the southern Scottish counties, the offence being 
a flagrant poaching escapade. Chay had been seen in 
broad daylight by the keeper to clip a salmon ; but on 
being pursued, his fleetness of foot had enabled him for 
the time being to make good his escape. He was, how- 
ever, subsequently apprehended and brought to trial. 
The case seemed very clear and simple, and the evidence 
was going dead against Chay, when he humbly asked 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUB 189 

the sheriff if he might be permitted to ask the witness 
a few questions. Permission being granted, the clever 
rogue began operations, a certain catchiness in his 
speech adding a quaint drollery to his questions. 
Addressing his enemy, the gamekeeper, amid the 
breathless silence of the crowded court, he said : "Noo, 
Wullie, mind ye're on yer aith ! Hoo far micht ye hae 
been awa' when ye saw me clip the saumonl Mind 
ye're on yer solum aith ! " he earnestly repeated. 
"Weel, mebbe something better nor a hunder yairds, 
Chay," responded the complacent keeper. "Noo, Wullie," 
said Chay, suddenly assuming quite a severe judicial 
manner, "cud ye tell the difference atween a pike an' 
a saumon at that distance — mind ye're on yer aith — 
jist seein' it whuppit oot o' the watter as ye saw me 
dae on SetterdayV Wullie visibly winced. It was 
evident he was perplexed, and after some hesitation 
he very reluctantly confessed that he could not dis- 
tinguish between the two fish named, at such a distance 
under the circumstances. A bright light beamed in 
Chay's hitherto anxious eyes. He turned round with 
a confident air to the sheriff, and with apparently deep 
feeling exclaimed : " So help me, God ! My lord, it wis 
a pike ! As shure's deith, ma lord, it wis a pike ! " 
Amid yells of laughter, in which the sheriff was forced 
to join, the case was dismissed.' 

This, too, is pawky, but I have seen it in print. 

Two farmers were bargaining over a horse. Said the 
one : ' It's a guid horse, I'll say that ; but tae be honest 
I maun tell ye it his gotten yae wee bit faut : it's gi'en 
tae rinnin' awa' wi' ye.' 'Oh, weel,' said the other, 'if 
that's a', it disna sae muckle maitter. Man, the last 



190 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

horse I hed wis gi'en tae rinnin' awa' withoot 
me.' 

But even more quaint and humorous is the following 
delightful bit of homespun criticism by an old Deeside 
farmer. He had been down to Edinburgh, to attend 
the meetings of the General Assembly, and on his 
return a lady of my acquaintance asked him : — 

' Weel, John, and how did ye like the speeches in the 
General Assembly *? ' 

' To tell the honest truth, mem,' said John, ' I thocht 
them vera like ma wife's tea.' 

' Ay, an' what like's it, John ? ' 

' Jist vera walk an' vera war-r-r-m, mem.' 

Possessed of the same quality of grim, dry humour 
is the following, which is vouched for as a true anecdote 
of 'the Iron Duke,' and I am told it possesses the merit 
of not having previously been published. At any rate, 
it is new to me. It would seem that a worthy Shet- 
lander, who had not succeeded so well as he could wish 
in his bare native isle, wrote a letter to the Duke, stating 
his position, etc., and begging him to kindly keep him in 
mind if he knew of any easy or comfortable appointment, 
with good pay attached. 

To this the Duke replied in characteristic fashion. 

'Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington presents his 

compliments to Mr. , and begs leave to say, that if 

he knew of any such situation he would certainly apply 
for it himself.' 

My next is an instance of the grim querulousness 
very characteristic of many of our aged cottagers : a 
sort of revolt against the very idea of dependence ; an 
impatience of anything savouring of patronage or con- 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 191 

ventional constraint, I am told this feeling is dying 
out ; that the old rustic independence is on the wane. 
Certainly in my young days there was an absolute horror 
of anything like parish help, or even organised charity. 
Now, I am told, it is becoming more and more the 
custom to look to Government for everything. The dole 
of State relief is counted on as a right, not spurned as a 
stigma. In this I do hope I am misinformed. Certainly 
thirty years' absence from one's native land may excuse 
me if I have too readily given credence to such a report ; 
but if it be true, if the old vigorous self-reliance and 
almost fierce protest against eleemosynary help is dying 
out, then so much the worse for Scotland and the proud 
supremacy of her children as a race, pre-eminentlj^, 
of self-reliant, energetic, and independent men and 
women. 

But to my story. 

A good lady of the fussy, imperious, attending-to- 
everybody's-business-but-her-own type, had called on a 
lonely old fellow of the old-fashioned sort : one who was 
too proud and independent to accept the dole of pro- 
miscuous, shallow benevolence, and who had just 
enough — bare, no doubt, but sufficient — for his simple 
wants. The old man resented as an impertinence, the 
brassy, inconsiderate, fussy familiarity of the visitor, 
and he feigned to be hard of hearing. The self- 
constituted inquisitor was not however to be baulked. 
She fairly bored the poor old man with a multitude of 
questions about his means, his health, his diet, the state 
of both his soul and body, and at length she got on to 
the subject of his age. The old man parried several of 
her queries, and the energetic philanthropist had not 



192 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

tact or delicacy enough to see that the subject was dis- 
tasteful to her involuntary victim. At length she fairly 
annoyed him by repeating for the third or fourth time : 
' But you have not yet told me your age. How old are 
you ? ' Up flashed the old protesting fire, and the old 
fellow snapped out : ' 'Deed I'm auld eneuch nae tae be 
sic a feel (fool) as tell you.' 

The same esteemed correspondent who gave me the 
above, sends me another illustrating the good-natured 
drollery of the Deeside folk. 

A 'rag-man' was passing by a farmhouse in the 
neighbourhood one day, and seeing the mistress asked 
her : — 

' Ony rags the day, gudewife ? ' 

'On ay,' she replied, 'plenty o' rags, but we're nae 
freely deen wi' them yet.' 

Up our glen I know a quaint character, named Jeems, 
who serves the good Glen folks in the dual capacity of 
postmaster and as proprietor of the only store of which 
the secluded neighbourhood can boast. As may be easily 
imagined, the stock is neither very extensive nor 
varied, but such as it is, it seems to suffice for the 
few wants of the customers. Jeems is one of the 
old-fashioned, independent, taciturn, blunt sort, and 
many of his traits and sayings have been told to me. 
It would seem that he does not look with much favour 
on the annual irruption of summer visitors. They are 
too exacting and fastidious ; they have too many 
wants : they ask for all sorts of outlandish things that 
the Glen folk would never imagine ; and if truth must be 
told, Jeems does not put himself one bit out of his usual 
way to cater for their custom. So it is perhaps that out- 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 193 

siders take advantage of the opening so presented, and 
store-carts and pedlar's-carts with all sorts of wares make 
frequent visits to the Glen during the tourist season. 
One day a fine lady who had apartments near the post- 
office, sent her maid across, to try and get a loaf of 
bread at the shop. They were to take their departure 
on the morrow, and from some slight miscalculation 
they had allowed themselves to run short of bread. 
Now Jeems knew all about their contemplated move- 
ments as well almost as they themselves did. They had 
never patronised his shop before, and he knew that now 
they did it only on the compulsion of necessity. His 
conduct, therefore, affords a whimsical indication of 
his mental attitude towards these interlopers, as he 
doubtless considered them, as in his dry, slow, solemn 
style, he handed over the loaf, and said to the girl : 
'Ay, ah'm thinkin' we'll no be gaen tae be bathered 
wi' your fowk muckle langer.' 

Another day two dressy young dames came into the 
shop, and looking about, they began to make audible 
comment with that loud, vacant flippancy and utter 
w^ant of consideration for any one else's feelings, which 
is so surely an evidence of vulgarity. Said one : 
' Deah me, what a wetched shop ! And what an out-of- 
the-way place this is ! ' 

Old Jeems, who had been stooping behind some 
packages, suddenly popped up his rather grim visage, 
and in his most deliberate manner said : ' Ou ay, it's 
nae doot a geyan oot-o'-the-w'y place this ; but we're 
judges o' gude breedin' for a' that.' 

Bravo, Jeems ! 

A capital illustration of the extreme, punctilious 
o 



194 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

regard for absolute accuracy which is so truly Scottish, 
was also told me in relation to Jeems. 

There had been some discussion in his hearing about 
the presence of salmon in the Esk, and as a resident he 
was appealed to. Jeems, in his ponderous, solemn 
way said bluntly : ' There's been nane seen this sisson.' 
'Oh, but,' said the interlocutor, rashly venturing to 
contradict, ' I hear there was one hooked only last week 
down at Keenie.' Again came Jeems's grim and em- 
phatic statement : ' There micht hae been ane hookit, 
but there's been nane seen.' 

A fine instance of the indomitable spirit of manly 
independence possessed by the older generation of 
humble Scotsmen comes to me from a vaJued corre- 
spondent, Mrs. Ehind of Aberdeen. 

A Morayshire laird, one of the Gradgrind order, said 
to a poor old shoemaker on his property, whose presence 
was an offence to him because, Ahab-like, he coveted 
the possession of his wee bit hoosie and haddin' — his 
ostensible reason being that he wished to rid the place 
of paupers — ' I'll ruin you, sir, if you do not quit my 
property.' 

'Na, na, laird,' replied the undaunted souter, 'ye'll 
no manage that as lang as bairns are born barefit ! ' — in 
allusion to his trade ; and then, as if by an afterthought, 
he added : ' But mebbe a mercif u' Providence '11 pit you 
aneth the sod gin that time.' 

While on this subject, a whimsical illustration of the 
effect of a single ejaculation comes to my mind, and I 
may be permitted to jot it down. A celebrated female 
lecturer on Woman's Rights found a bumper house await- 
ing her appearance in the City Hall, Glasgow, one night. 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 195 

Wishing to impress her audience with her first few 
words, and fix their attention, she stepped well forward 
on the platform, stretched forth her right arm, and 
rather melodramatically exclaimed : ' Why was I born a 
woman?' (Pause.) 'Why am I here to-night?' 
(Another pause — solemn silence.) Then a small, wicked 
keelie (street urchin) in the back gallery utterly spoiled 
all the effect, and sent the audience into convulsions of 
laughter, by piping out in a thin, reedy treble, ' We'll 
gie'd up ! ' 

To a well-known traveller I am indebted for the follow- 
ing. One night in the commercial-room of a leading 
hotel in one of the northern towns, 'the boys of the 
sample bag ' were exchanging confidences, and, as is not 
uncommon, the talk became decidedly professional. One 
callow youth began to brag very pronouncedly about 
the large orders he had that day taken. A quiet, 
pawky, old fellow in a corner, in the same line, and one 
of the Nestors of 'the road,' knowing the youth to be 
wildly exaggerating, good - humouredly said : ' Toots, 
toots, man, ye ken ye've din naething like what ye 
say.' The youngster evidently felt very keenly the 
implied snub, and angrily retorted, ' Oh, I suppose I'm 
a liar then ! ' The old fellow convulsed the room, and 
completed the discomfiture of the green hand, by giving 
a dry chuckle as he produced his snufF-box and replied : 
' Weel, that's nae muckle tae brag aboot aither.' 

Talking of ' leears ' reminds me of a good golf story 
which I am sure I have read somewhere, but where I 
cannot remember. I have found it in my note-book 
however, and here it is. 

Two well-knowji professional golfers were playing a 



196 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

match. We shall call them Sandie and Jock. On one 
side of the golf course was a railway, over which Jock 
drove his ball, landing it in some long grass. They then 
both hunted for a long time for the missing ball. Sandie 
wanted Jock to give in, and admit that the ball was 
lost, as a lost ball meant a lost hole. Continuing to 
look around, Jock slyly dropped another ball, and then 
coming back cried: 'I've fun' (found) the ba', Sandie.' 
'Ye 're a leear,' said the imperturbable and plain-spoken 
Sandie, 'for here it's in ma pooch.' 

I find among my notes, a good example of punning 
humour recorded of a well-known accountant of 
one of the old-established banks in Edinburgh. He 
generally used to walk to his office accompanied by a 
neighbour friend, whose city office was close to the bank. 
The new head- office of a rival bank had just been 
completed — a handsome, pretentious building adorned 
with figures of beautiful statuary, supposed to rej^resent 
the apostles. By comparison the more ancient bank 
building was a dwarfed, mean-looking structure, and the 
friend, intending a waggish bit of raillery, said to the 
accountant : ' Man, what a sorry-lookin' biggin' that is 
o' yours. Look at the graun' new bank there, that's 
a wyse-like bank noo ! An' they've gotten the twal' 
apostles, tae ! ' To which came the dry but witty 
rejoinder : ' Oh ay ! the apostles are a' vera weel, but 
I believe mair in the prophets ! ' (profits). 

But one of the wittiest puns of which I have any 
original record, is in connection with a pair of the old 
Montrose worthies — Provost — — , and dear old Adam 
Burness, whose genial face and warm-hearted, cordial 
manner I can never forget. He was very good to me 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 197 

when I was a wild and thoughtless callant. Mr. Burness 
was one of the leading solicitors in the quaint 'gable- 
endie ' town, and was moreover in close blood-relation- 
ship to our famous national poet, the immortal Robbie 
Burns. The worthy Provost was an extraordinary 
character : self-educated, vigorous in mind and body, 
utterly careless of conventionalities, and brimful of a 
robust, humorous intelligence, he was yet occasionally 
led away by his undoubted readiness of wit and wonder- 
ful glibness of speech, into the most extraordinary 
oratorical outbursts, which were not always remarkable 
for correctness of grammar or strict regard to the recog- 
nised rules of rhetoric. If one is privileged to possess 
the acquaintance of some of the old residents, one may 
occasionally hear illustrations such as I have tried to jot 
down from time to time. 

The particular instance to which I have alluded, was on 
the occasion of the unveiling of the fine statue to Joseph 
Hume, M.P., the veteran Radical, who was a native of 
Montrose. The old Provost, after a grand speech befit- 
ting the occasion, at length concluded his address by 
saying : ' Leddies an' gentlemen, I will noo unveil this 
beeyootifool statute.' Old Mr. Burness with ready wit 
was heard to dryly remark : ' Richt to a T, Provost ! 
richt to a T ! ' 

Another specimen of the worthy Provost's oratory is 
told me in connection with a complimentary dinner 
given by the townsmen, to a certain medical man who 
was held in great esteem, and whose identity I may veil 
under the cognomen Dr. Scott. The Provost had to 
propose the toast of the evening, and he always used 
the broad, Angus dialect, which much enhanced the 



198 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

raciness of his quaint deliverances. After a few opening 
remarks, and wishing at once to focus the attention of 
his audience on the worthy object of his eulogium, he 
dropped into the Socratic method, and in vigorous 
accents he asked : ' Gentlemen, fan we're born intil 
this warl' fa div we sen' for 1 Why, for Dr. Scott ! 
Fin we have the teethache or the mizzles or the 
scarlet fivver, fa div we sen' for? For Dr. Scott, of 
coorse ! ' And so he enumerated pretty nearly every 
disease incident to humanity, and amid continuously 
increasing applause and bursts of merriment, which 
the worthy man took as a compliment to his own 
eloquence, he proceeded perspiringly to perorate 
thus : ' An' when, gentlemen, we " shuffle off this 
mortal coil " and descend intill " the dark valley o' 
the shadow of death," fa div we sen' for?' and a 
tumultuous and unanimous yell, thundered in answer 
from the now fairly convulsed audience — ' Dr. Scott, of 
course ! Dr. Scott ! ' 

But even more delightfully ludicrous still, was the 
only preserved remnant of an oration pronounced by the 
Provost in presenting a handsome watch to one of the most 
respected ministers of the town, given by his congrega- 
tion and the townspeople, in recognition of a long career 
of public usefulness. The worthy and eloquent magis- 
trate had evidently thought it behoved him to drop into 
a somewhat scriptural style on such an occasion. The 
exquisite humour of these situations was always accentu- 
ated by the Provost's constant habit of jerking his right 
thumb over his shoulder after every outburst of 
eloquence. Each period was rounded off with this 
peculiar jerk of the thumb, and each jerk was generally 



FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 199 

the signal for an outburst of ' Hear, hears ' from the wags 
among the bankers and lawyers of the ' ancient gable- 
ended toun.' 

After gradually warming to his task, and encouraged 
by the generous applause which greeted each sonorous 
sentence, he said : ' May this magneeficent watch, sir 
(jerk), be handed doon as an heirloom to posterity (jerk ; 
Hear ! hear !), an' may generations yet unborn rise up and 
say, " Watchman, what of the nicht 1 " (jerk ; tumultuous 
applause). May it not only, sir, be your monitor in 
time (jerk), but your guide throw the coontless ages of a 
lang eternity ! ' (jerk). Here the applause became 
positively deafening, and the gratified orator, beaming 
with complacency, turned to one of the bailies sitting 
near and whispered : ' Fu am I gettin' on, Bylie 1 ' ' Oh, 
fine. Provost, fine ! ' ' Ay, min, an' it's a' vairbittem ! ' 
(verbatim). The good old soul meant ' extempore,' 
but it was perfectly understood, and served the purpose 
just as well. 

But with all his eccentricities of speech, the worthy 
Provost was a vigorous, useful, public-spirited character. 
He was one of a fine old breed that seem to be dying 
out now. He spared not himself, but gave generously 
of his time, his talents, and his means, to the service of 
his generation and the advancement of his town. He 
counted public honour and the recognition of his towns- 
men, sufficient reward for all his voluntary service. The 
cash nexus, as I have said, is the sole seeming incentive 
to public usefulness nowadays. Our members of Parlia- 
ment, our town councillors and mayors, all are learning 
to clamour and look for the sordid pelf and filthy lucre, 
in respect of services that should be voluntary, and are 



200 FEATURES OF SCOTTISH HUMOUR 

about as honourable as a man can assume, seeing they 
are representative, and should be the guerdon only of a 
stainless reputation and the general esteem and con- 
fidence. How long will it be, I wonder, before our very 
churchwardens, elders, deacons, and Sabbath School 
teachers, will want to be paid for their services as well *? 
As it is, the choirs in many places actually expect and 
look for, pay for praise, and palm oil for psalmody. 

Let me conclude this chapter by another presenta- 
tion speech, though not so ornate as the good Provost's of 
Montrose. It, too, was on the occasion of a presentation 
of a handsome drawing-room mantel-clock and two cande- 
labra to a much-respected clergyman. The ruling elder 
was deputed to perform the honourable ceremony, but 
being ' no orator as Brutus was,' but only a plain, blunt 
Scotsman, he came quickly to the point, saying simply : 
' Weel, sir, here's the knock (clock) an' twa caunles, 
an' may ye never be exalted abuve meesure.' 



CHAPTER XII 

ODDITIES OF SPEECH AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 

Fondness for 'lang-nebbit' words — A queer illness — How a Scottish 
lad}^ acquired French — How the minister learned foreign lan- 
guages — A clerkish mistake — A pulpit intimation — Queer 
phrases among the fisher folk — Strange place for a ' Dissenter ' 
— The ' Calvinistic battery ' — Further examples — Instances of 
pithy Scotch — Deeside dialect — How Pharaoh died — Grades 
in the fish-hawking business — The miller of Ashbogle — An 
anecdote of the old minister — A horse-dealer's estimate of his 
own profession — A wife's blunt injunction — How he knew 
his sweetheart's name — Peter Ruff the coachdriver — Tarn 
Dick of Dunedin — ' Speerits ' an aid to digestion. 

One rather strange peculiarity of the old-fashioned 
rustic folk of the north, which I have frequently come 
across in the course of my observations on Scottish 
character, and of which I have noted a few typical 
examples in the present chapter, is the tendency to use 
and often totally to misapply, pretentious terms and 
phrases, when the terse, pithy, native Doric would far 
better fulfil the purpose intended. Perhaps this is not 
exclusively or characteristically Scottish. It is a ten- 
dency of the bucolic mind in all nationalities, and it is 
difficult to say whence it arises. There is probably the 
innocent conceit of trying to appear more learned than 



202 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

one really knows oneself to be, a sort of harmless 
pedantry which is not confined to college dons and 
learned professors. There is, too, an element of courtesy 
in it — a desire to express oneself to a stranger or a 
superior in the most choice and fitting language. You 
will see that this is so, if you observe that the occasions 
on which these 'lang-nebbit wirds,' as the country folk 
term them, are used, are generally when the peasant is 
talking to the minister, or the laird, or to some social 
superior; and may there not be also in some cases a 
very natural confusion of ideas, between sound and 
sense, which is common to the unsophisticated and im- 
perfectly educated of all nations'? At all events the 
foible is a very human and a very common one, and no 
better illustration can be adduced than that old, old, 
well-worn one, of ' the blessed unction ' which was sup- 
posed to exist in the use of the sesquipedalian word 
' Mesopotawmia.' 

A funny example is that in which a young clergyman, 
meeting one of his parishioners whose husband had been 
for some time ill, made kindly inquiries for him, and 
the conversation which ensued was something after 
this fashion : — 

'Is it true, what I have just heard, that John has 
been ill ? ' he asked. 

' Oh, sir, he's been taen vera badly, sir ! ' 
' Indeed ! I'm sorry to hear it. What is the matter ? ' 
' Weel, sir, the doctor says he's got a catJiolic in ilka 
e'e, forbye fojtulat'wn o' the hert.' 

I doubt if even the apocryphal Mrs. Malaprop in 
her wildest flights could transcend that ' derangement of 
epitaphs.' 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 203 

It is not a whit worse than one I find recorded in 
my notes of a very worthy, hospitable soul — a rich 
farmer's wife in Angus, who in later years became just 
perhaps a little spoiled by prosperity and a trip to the 
Continent, and affected the use of a vocabulary which I 
am sure she did not wholly understand. She dearly 
loved to tell her gossips of her continental experiences ; 
and on one occasion, being pressed by a waggish caller 
to relate her adventures, and asked how in the world 
she managed to get on with the foreigners, seeing she 
did not know the language, she nearly upset the gravity 
of the circle by saying very mincingly : ' Oh weel, ye see, 
we jist declined aneth the shade o' the trees ilka 
mornin' an' pursued the Dickshonar'.' 

But not less amusing, was the remark made by a 
well-known trader of Montrose, called from his business 
of china merchant ' Pigger ' Mitchell — ' pigs ' being 
the Scottish synonym for crockery. As the story was 
told to me it would seem that the worthy dealer's 
eldest son was receiving lessons in modern languages 
from a Mr. Campbell, one of the ministers of the 
borough. A somewhat inquisitive and incredulous 
critic in converse one day with 'Pigger,' raised a doubt 
as to the competency of the clerical tutor, but ' Pigger ' 
emphatically vindicated his learning by sajdng : ' Oh, 
nae fear but he's competent eneuch. Man, he gings 
ilka year to the Continent tae pick up the deealogue.' 

My brother furnishes me with a not less ludicrous 
instance afforded by one of his clerks, a young fellow 
fresh up from the country. At a pleasant outing given 
to his staff at his Keigate home, it became necessary to 
improvise a table for some part of the al fresco repast. 



204 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

which had been provided on a princely scale. The 
young fellow, full of zeal, and anxious to air his best 
company words, bustled about with some planks he had 
found, and said : ' Oh, sir, we'll sune impoverish a 
table.' 

Here is a note which illustrates the rather peculiar 
idiom in which English gets spoken by people who are 
more accustomed to speak ' ta Gaelic ' in its purity and 
richness. A Highland minister wanted to intimate 
from the pulpit that a certain probationer, not very 
brilliantly endowed with intellectual gifts, was to preach, 
and this is how he made the announcement : ' Maister 

E will endeevyour for. to try for to preach ta 

Gospel next Sawbath Day.' 

My esteemed friend and correspondent, the Rev. 

James H , already quoted, has given me quite a 

number of curious instances of this love for sounding 
phraseology and ' lang-nebbit words.' He ministered 
at one time among the quaint and deeply interesting 
fisher folk on the East Coast about the latitude 
of the Mearns, and it was quite a common experi- 
ence to find these somewhat primitive people using 
regular 'jaw-breakers' when the simple, terse Scottish 
idiom would have been much prettier and more 
expressive. 

For instance, he writes me that one day during his 
visitations, he entered a humble dwelling ; but I shall let 
him proceed in his own words : — ' Mrs. Guthrie, a 
carter's wife, was sitting by the fire, and rocking her 
body to and fro as if in pain, when I called upon her 
one day. She had her left hand wrapped up in flannel. 
I asked her what was the matter with her hand, and 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 205 

she replied: "Weel, sir, I dinna a'thegither ken, but 
I'm some thinkin' it's jist completely disannulled.''' 
What on earth she meant to convey by such a ' blessed 

word ' as that, Mr. H did not know, and probably the 

poor bodie did not very clearly know herself. She may 
have probably meant disabled. 

' On another occasion,' he writes, ' a worthy deacon 
of mine in the fishing village of Inverallochy was re- 
proached with inconsistency of conduct in that he had 
allowed his boat to be launched before his proper turn, 
it being the habit to take down the small fishing-boats 
from the beach in rotation. My friend, in justifying 
himself, afterwards said : " The blame was not mine, 
sir; it was the crew's. What could I do when sax 
great big, stoot, earned men got hold of the boat and ran 
her doon intill the sea." 

'I have found,' pursues Mr. H , 'among these 

simple, warm-hearted fisher folk, a strange love for big 
words and sounding phrases. A fisherman one day 
telling me of a presentation that had been made to a 
certain popular " curer," in recognition of his liberality, 
said, with evident unction : " We compromised and re- 
presentated him wi' a gold watch." 

'Mr. W , a minister I knew in the north,' he 

continues, 'was going through the same village of In- 
verallochy, in which the houses are all very much alike, 
the gables all facing seawards. Meeting a fisherman he 

said: "I am looking for 's house, but really the 

houses are all so much alike here that I'm fairly 
puzzled." "Yes," interrupted the resident, "the hooses 
are very unanimous." ' 

Another instance comes to me from Stirling. An old 



206 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

wifie was asked by her minister ' hoo her man wis the 
day.' She answered : ' Oh, 'deed, minister, he's no vera 
weel. Ye see he's got a Dissenter in's inside.' 

Another, very much akin, is as follows : — A worthy 
crofter had been afflicted with a slight shock of paralysis, 
and there being no doctor within convenient distance, 
the good minister of the parish visited the poor man, 
and producing an old galvanic battery of which he 
happened to be possessed, he applied it to the patient 
with some apparent considerable advantage. Next day 
a neighbour called to inquire for the sufferer, and 
asked the gudewife : ' Well, how is your husband 
to-day? ' 'He's no vera weel,' was the reply; 'but I'm 
houpin' he'll sune be better. The minister's been giein' 
him a shock wi' the Calvinistic battery, an' it did him a 
lot o' guid.' 

Of course this was a pardonable mistake, though 
whimsical enough. It was like an old servant of ours, 
who used to refer sometimes to the ' anniversity of her 
mairritch,' and always spoke of a certain convalescent 
hospital as the convcdashun infirmity — meaning, I suppose, 
infirmary. 

Of the same curious category, however, as some of 
the above must have been the extraordinary phrase of a 
stolid, phlegmatic old Scotsman of whom I find I have 
a note. He was gazing on Niagara for the first time, 
and he had stirred the spleen of the voluble guide, by 
his non-betrayal of any wonderment or emotion whatso- 
ever. At length the guide irritably ejaculated : ' Wal, 
strainger, don't you seem to the.nk this rather a wonder- 
ful sight?' 'Weel, no man,' said the imperturbable 
North Briton, 'I canna say I see onything vera won- 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 207 

nerfu' aboot it ! If the watter wis rinnin' up the ither 
w'y noo, it wad nae doot be somethin' mair oot o' the 
mrnack'lar.' 

What in the world the man meant by the use of such 
a word in such a connection is a puzzle, unless explain- 
able on the assumption that he was addicted to this 
strange weakness for out-of-the-way phrases and ' lang- 
nebbit wirds.' 

But this extraordinary trait, of which I could give 
many more examples, were it at all needful or profitable, 
is all the more incomprehensible seeing how rich and 
racy and expressive is the Scottish ' virnack'lar ' itself. 
Thousands of examples at once present themselves — 
'greetin',' 'girnin',' 'pechin',' 'dawtie,' ' wimplin' burnie,' 
'trachle,' 'bairnie,' and so on. But a few illustrations 
by way of contrast may perhaps best illustrate my 
meaning. 

My father used to gleefully quote the reply of, I 
think, a relation who had married a douce, humdrum, 
good-looking shepherd. During some vicissitude of 
their humble fortunes they had started a small butcher's 
shop in a remote north- country township during the 
tourist season. The goodman was waiting, in the little 
bit shop one day, when an English-speaking damsel 
came in, requiring a pound or so of suet. This was 
clean beyond the amateur shopkeeper's scholarship ; so 
calling 'but the hoose' to his better - educated and 
keener - witted spouse, he drawled out : ' Fat's sooet, 
Nauncie ? ' ' Hoots, jist creesh, ye gowk ! ' came back 
at once the perfectly understandable reply, in the 
broadest vernacular. 

And to ' creesh ane's loof ' instantly suggests itself as 



208 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

a thoroughly Scotch expression, though quite a foreign 
phrase to the ordinary Southron. 

A quaint instance of the Scottish idiom which speaks 
of ' lacking ' or ' being without ' a thing, as ' wantin' ' it, 
comes from a valued correspondent. ' Our inspector of 
schools,' he writes, 'was examining a class of small 
children the other day, and put the question : " What is 
a widow ? " Silence reigned for a few minutes, then a 
shrill little voice piped out the exquisite Scotticism : "A 
wife wantin' a man, sir." ' 

Quite as good in its way was the reply of a little fellow 
to his teacher, who had in the reading lesson come on 
the sentence : ' There are occasions for inquiring into the 
faults of every one, from bailie to beadle ' ; and wishing 
to test the intelligence of the class, he asked the meaning 
of the word beadle. Instantly the little fellow replied : 
' Please, sir, it's — a — a — a stick for champin' tauties.' 

Here is another example, from Mrs. Ehind, of the 
use of the word ' to win,' meaning to reach, or to get to. 

The minister of S asked one of his parishioners, 

whose mother was a notorious scold : ' Weel, Jock, an' 
hoo's yer mither the day '? ' ' Oh, she's brawlies, sir. 
Ye see, sir, I'm thinkin' the grace o' God's in my 
mither's hert, but I'm sair dootin' it's never won the 
length o' her tongue.' 

Here is a curious instance of the quaint and little- 
known Deeside dialect. Said a lady, whose school 
children had been playing among a farmer's turnips, 
and had been punished for the transgression : 'John, I 
hope the children have been behaving better V ' Ou 
ay, mem. They hinna been blaudin' ma neeps sae bias 
feerious as they eest tae dee.' 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNEBS 209 

Another of the same is the following : — ' How are ye 
the day, Kirsty 1 ' said a lady to an old wifie in Cromar. 
' Thank ye, mem ; I'm jist gielies i' ma helth, but I'm 
jist bias wi' a sair hoast.' 

One eager little lassie, near Brechin, amused me the 
other day. She had dropped on 'a warm corner' in 
wild fruits evidently, for her face was ' skaiket up t'ye 
lugs,' as she would have put it, with rasp and blae- 
berry stains. Meeting some of her comrades, she 
breathlessly communicated the gleeful fact of her 
good fortune, by shouting out : ' We've been tae the 
Tyler's Widdie (Tailor's Wood), an' we're fou up t'ye 
mou.' 

Let me be permitted to transcribe yet another from 
my notes, although this, I think, has already appeared in 
print. 

Socrates excelled in the art of asking questions 
because he put them in words easily understood. An 
English clergyman and a Lowland Scotsman examining 
an Aberdeen school, failed because they did not adopt 
the Socratic method. 'Would you prefer to speir the 
boys, or that I should speir them ? ' asked the master of 
the school. The Englishman having been told that 
speir meant to question, desired the master to proceed. 
He did so, and the boys answered many questions as to 
the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. ' I would like to 
" speir " the boys,' then said the clergyman. ' Boys, how 
did Pharaoh die ? ' Not a boy answered. ' I think, 
sir,' said the Lowlander, 'that the boys do not under- 
stand your English accent ; let me try what I can make 
of them.' Then in the broadest Scotch he asked : ' Hoo 
did Phawraoh dee ? ' Again a dead silence. ' I think, 

p 



210 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

gentlemen,' said the master, 'you canna speir these 
laddies. I'll show you how to do it.' Then turning to 
the scholars : ' Fat cam' to Phawraoh at his hinner end 1 ' 
' He wis drooned ! ' at once answered the boys. The 
master then explained that in the Aberdeen dialect ' to 
dee' really means to die a natural death; hence the 
perplexity of the boys, who knew that Pharaoh did not 
die in his bed. 

A quaint illustration of another localism, is given in a 
report of a very interesting lecture, which I read with 
much delight, delivered, I think, in Edinburgh by the 
Eev. Alexander Wallace. 

' Two of the genus known as Newhaven fish- 
women having happened to meet one day in the 
streets of Edinburgh, commenced a gossiping con- 
versation, and were about to separate, when one of 
them, suddenly remembering a small piece of news, 
exclaimed hastily to her companion : " Eh, wumman, 
did ye hear that Janet Forsyth was deid ? " 
"Janet Forsyth, Janet Forsyth?" mused the other, 
endeavouring to recall the name to her recollection. 
" Janet Forsyth ! na, wumman, na ! Wis she in the 
haddie line?" — the two speakers themselves happened 
to belong to this elevated and aristocratic class of the 
fraternity. To which interrogation the first speaker 
answered somewhat indignantly, and evidencing a lofty 
sense of superiority to the lowly Janet : " ISTa, na, 
wumman ! Na, na ! puir feckless body, she ne'er got 
abune the mussel line o' business."' 

It is quite certain that if ' the gude auld braid Scots 
tongue ' lent itself to directness and force in expression, 
the old-time folks, like the Apostle to the Gentiles, 'used 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 211 

great plainness of speech.' They were not afraid to 
express their meanings in language which could not be 
misunderstood. There was little of our modern niminy- 
piminy mealy-mouthedness about them, and it is just 
possible, as I have pointed out elsewhere, that what we 
may have gained in elegance and style, we may have lost 
in sincerity, directness, and force. What thus appears 
quite coarse, almost brutally so, in fact, to us, did not 
so appear to the older generation. The surviving 
examples of the unstudied bluntness of our forefathers, 
if rightly viewed, are simply so many evidences of a 
more primitive and less sophisticated state of society ; 
and without at all wishing to revive archaic and un- 
polished expressions, one often does wish that in high 
places as well as humble, there was more of the old 
courage and outspoken honesty in attacking abuses, and 
withstanding the encroachments of insidious evils, 
introduced often under 'very high and lofty patronage.' 
It does seem to me, in short, that in our modern life we 
are far too apt, as a people, to magnify and exalt mere 
worldly success, to bow down and worship mere 
wealth and outward show, and to lay less stress on the 
possession of the inward graces and homely virtues, the 
' elevation of thought and feeling,' that often accompanies 
and in large measure compensates for the lack of material 
wealth or outward adornment. 

As an instance of this direct bluntness, with just a 
touch of what to our more sophisticated ears would be 
deemed coarseness or vulgarity, let me give an extract 
from the letter of a friend of mine now in New Zealand. 
It gives a graphic glimpse of the old-fashioned farm- 
house life, with its unceasing industry, its primitive 



212 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

ways, and that dash of hard, dry humour, which we 
have been endeavouring to illustrate. 

Ashbogle is a quaint little nook in the valley of the 
Deveron, some three miles from Turriff. The miller 
was Auld Chairlie Grieve, known up and down the whole 
country-side as 'The Mullart o' Ashbogle.' He was a 
fine typical specimen of the old-fashioned Aberdeen 
farmer. One of his most notable characteristics was his 
constant habit of being up with the lark, and often 
indeed ahead of that early chorister. Winter and 
summer alike, in glint or gloom, he was stirring before 
cockcrow, and by 4.30 A.M. he would be up and away, 
making the round of his farm, and be back again before 
the rest of the household were awake. To waken these 
was the old miller's next task, and his grandson writes : 
' He would invariably come to the stair-foot and cry out 
each name, in a voice that made the walls ring again. 
My father and uncle were prone to indulge in a " lang 
lie " if they could manage it. On the particular occasion 
to which I allude, the old man bellowed up the stair to 
them: "Get up, you twa lazy loons; gin ye lie muckle 
langer ye'U ROT ! " " Na, na ! " was the drowsy reply of 
my uncle, with a dash of quiet humour; "we turn 
whiles." ' This was in allusion to a common operation 
of the farm, namely the proper preparation of the com- 
post heap. 

I was recently told a story of my own father, the 
good old minister, which well illustrates this hearty, 
pawky humour, with just the requisite dash of 
pungency in it. 

A would-be fine lady, at a certain dinner, affecting to 
be slightly indisposed, although her appetite was of a 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 213 

very robust character, when asked by my father, who 
happened to be carving one of the fowls, what he could 
help her to, said in an affected, mincing manner, by way of 
a joke : ' Oh, 'deed, minister, I'm no vera weel the day, 
but ye micht jist gie me a leg, an' a wing, an' a bittie o' 
the back.' My father took the good dame literally at her 
word, for of all things in the world he hated affectation 
most, and when helped as she had jokingly desired, she, 
with a simper and a giggle, said : ' Oh, Mr. Inglis, but 
ye've jist gien me cairtloads.' The large helping, 
however, as my father fully expected, was not long 
in disappearing, and noticing the empty plate, he said 
in his hearty way, with a humorous twinkle of quizzical 
banter in his eye : ' Noo, Mistress Jackson, jist back 
in yer cairt for anither load.' 

A good example, too, of this blunt outspokenness is 
furnished by the reply of a well-known horse-dealer in a 
northern district to his minister, who had frequently 
pressed him to allow himself to be nominated for the 
eldership. The minister knew the horse-couper, as he 
would be called in ' The Mearns,' to be a man of sub- 
stance, and possibly this fact weighed more with him 
than high spirituality or moral worth. The couper 
most probably had the higher sense of the responsibility 
of the office, and he constantly gave the minister evasive 
answers, till at last the worthy cleric demanded flatly 
a sufficient reason for his constant refusal. He certainly 
got it plump and plain. Looking him straight in the 
eyes, the horse-couper replied : ' Toots, sir, hoo can a 
man be an elder an' sell a horse 1 ' 

Blunt enough, too, was that wifely injunction to a 
rather stupid husband on the occasion of the christening 



214 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

of their first child. The sharp goodwife had all her 
wits about her, but the blate shepherd may have been a 
bit disconcerted by his unwonted surroundings. At any 
rate when the minister asked the usual question whether 
he was the father of the child, the poor man stood open- 
mouthed and unresponsive, till the partner of his hearth 
and home smartly nudged him and said in an aside, loud 
enough for half the company to hear : ' Can ye no boo, 
ye stupit eedit ? ' 

My friend the Eev. James H , several of whose 

stories I have already given, tells me yet another, which 
was narrated to him by Sir Alexander Anderson. It 
illustrates the uncouth bluntness of the 'fisher fowk,' 
and a phase of Scottish rural life which perhaps happily 
is becoming much softened. One of the rustic swains 
had gone to the village ' to gie in the names ' to the 
session-clerk on a Saturday, so that his banns might be 
published in the church on the morrow. Some feeling 
akin to stage fright, however, had possibly possessed 
him suddenly, as when he stood before the spectacled 
official he had clean forgotten the Christian name of his 
intended bride. The clerk unceremoniously packed him 
off to the house of the bride to get the required informa- 
tion. On the way a sudden flash of illumination lit up 
the dark chamber of memory. He recollected the name, 
and at once hastened back to complete his errand. The 
session-clerk, however, knowing full well that Tam had 
not had time to go all the way to the bride's home, was 
a little surprised and just a wee bit sceptical when Tam 
gave in the name as Bell. So he asked him rather 
sharply : ' How do you know that her name is Bell 1 ' 
' Oh,' was the blunt reply, ' I ken her naime's Bell weel 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNDSS 215 

eneuch, because she his a muckle B on the breist o' her 
sark.' 

Much has been written illustrative of the old j^ro- 
fanity and swearing habits which were formerly so 
common, but which happily are now much mitigated. 
One such is told of a notorious character known as old 
Peter EufF, the driver of the Perth coach. On one 
occasion when he had been indulging in a more than 
ordinarily turgid torrent of profanity at his horses, a 
worthy minister seated beside him on the box, and who 
was naturally much shocked, ventured to remonstrate. 
' Peter,' he said, ' ye shouldna sweir like that, man ; ye 
should try an' emulate the patience of Job.' Very gruffly, 
and with a terrible oath, came the query : ' Whatna 
coach did Job drive 1 ' 

Peter was undoubtedly a coarse, brutal fellow, though 
unquestionably a good whip, and he only illustrates 
what is a very common failing among half-educated and 
ill-balanced natures. Let one of these lob-sided characters 
manifest any dexterity or pre-eminence in one particular 
line, and his self-conceit at once makes him think that 
he is equally eminent in everything else. In coach- 
drivers especially, nowadays, this is a very common 
fault. Because they can drive a coach well, they there- 
fore seem to think that they are thereby relieved from any 
necessity to be pleasant spoken, to study their employer's 
interests, or to approve themselves ordinarily civil and 
polite. It is the old, old truth which Shakespeare with his 
wondrous intuition and observation has recorded. Some 
clown ' dressed in a little brief authority ' goes ' off the 
handle,' and makes an ass or a beast of himself. One often 
finds instances among callow gardeners and gamekeepers. 



216 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

Now Peter the coacli-driver was simply a vulgar 
ruffian, apart from his undoubted excellence as a whip, 
and he had not even ' the saving salt of humour ' to 
make his profanity approximately interesting. He was 
not like another famous swearer at the Antipodes, about 
whom I have an entry in my note-book, which may 
perhaps fittingly be introduced just here. Tam Dick 
was s\j well-known oddity in the truly Scottish town of 
Dunedin, New Zealand, and he was noted no less for 
his wooden leg than for his powers of swearing. It 
was the delight of the Dunedin boys to torment Tam 
for the purpose of hearing him indulge in this most 
reprehensible propensity. Perhaps my readers have 
never heard a colonial bullock-driver swear 1 If so, they 
have no idea what really scientific, wholesale swearing 
is. Tam had been a bullock - driver, and was a past 
master in the art. On one occasion puir Tam had 
trusted his wooden leg to the treacherous support of a 
rotten piece of roadway, where some recent excavations 
had been but newly filled in. In an incautious moment 
he had stepped from the safety of the side walk, and in 
a twinkling the wooden leg had plunged down to the 
very hilt, and Tam in vain tried to extricate himself. 
There he was, spinning round like a ' 'chafer on a pin,' 
and of course he was soon surrounded by a crowd of 
mischievous and unsympathetic boys. Their jeers and 
laughter, as may be imagined, did not tend to improve 
Tam's temper. He made desperate efforts to extricate 
himself, but the tenacious clay held his prisoned wooden 
member fast. Then Tam began cursing. As was said 
by a witness in a celebrated police-court case, ' Tam 
The more the boys laughed, the 



AND OLD-TIME BLUNTNESS 217 

deeper and louder swore puir prisoned Tarn. Just then 
who should come up but the kindly, venerable old 

Doctor S , the well-known minister of the High 

Church, who has just lately gone to his reward. 
Hastening up in his kindly way to help Tam out of 
his difficulty, he yet could not refrain from administering 
a, deserved rebuke for the terrific torrent of pro-fanity. 
Addressing Tam, who at once had subsided into the 
mildest form of objurgation, he rebuked him for the 
reprehensible exhibition of swearing he had just ex- 
hibited ; but Tam with ready wit, with a clever know- 
ledge of the good old doctor's love of humour, and with 
a really quick adaptation of the subtle shades of casuistry 
that he thought might readily appeal to the doctor as a 
theologian, turned the edge of the old divine's indignation, 
by saying with an assumption of bonJiomie : — 

' Toots, doctor, I wisna swearin' frae the hert, ye ken, 
but only frae the heid.' 

' Ah, Tam, Tam,' said the mollified doctor, ' if I 
served ye right, I should be sweir (loath) to help ye oot.' 

Yet one more story of the old-fashioned outspoken 
bluntness, and then I take leave of that part of my 
subject. An old gentleman who was of a very stay-at- 
home disposition, and detested ceremony, had found it 
incumbent upon him, in the discharge of some obligation 
of kinship, to attend at rather a stately, formal dinner at 
a house where there was a good deal more grandeur 
than comfort, according to the view of our homespun 
friend. At the fish course he put his hand to the side 
of his mouth, and whispered behind it to the grave 
liveried functionary behind him, ' Speerits.' The placid, 
well-bred menial took no notice. Again came the whisper 



218 ODDITIES OF SPEECH 

of distress — a little louder and hoarser this time — ■ 
' Speerits.' Still no response from the sphinx in plush. 
The host, however, divining the difficulty, addressed the 
footman, and asked him to bring Mr. So-and-so some 
spirits. This naturally turned the eyes of the whole 
distinguished company on our unfortunate bonnet-laird, 
and seeing that he had made a deviation from the usual 
placid procedure of a fashionable dinner, he sought to 
excuse himself, by saying apologetically to the lady 
presiding at his end of the table, the sister of his host, 
what was no doubt a perfectly unnecessary piece of 
information, but just the plajn, honest truth : ' Ye see. 
Miss Erskine, if I dinna hae speerits efter ma fush, I'm 
aye gien to bock.' This simply meant that the poor man 
desired to take a reasonable, and no doubt, in his case, a 
necessary precaution against flatulence or indigestion. 



CHAPTEE XIII 



WHISKY STORIES 



Grouse shooting : its delights and surroundings — A disquisition 
on whisky — ' No the whisky, but the Here's t'ye ! ' — The true 
path to lasting reform — Jimmy Dewar the toper — The two 
farmers and their toasts, etc. — A lax teetotaller — Why the slow 
boat was preferred — The twa gills — A deceptive measure — A 
natural gill-stoup — A drinker's heaven — A cautious reason for 
sobriety — A temperance testimony — A drouthy Dundee man's 
dream — A dry commentary — The minister rebuked — The 
humours of whisky — ' No sma' dry ' — A trick of the yill trade 
— A professional estimate — Janet and the minister — Perfect 
content. 

Some of my readers who may have followed me thus 
far, have doubtless at one time or another participated 
in the thrilling seductions of grouse shooting. I am 
looking out as I write, over the Birks of Ardoch. The 
mottled flanks of the great Glen hills come rolling down 
into the Esk valley in all directions. The river is in 
spate, and above the susurrus of the whispering breeze 
of morn, which just lifts the birch leaves and makes 
them glisten like plastic silver in the caressing sunbeams, 
I can hear the hoarse, gurly roar of angry water, churning 
and fuming among the granite rocks and boulders that 
so thickly strew the bed of the stream, and impede its 



220 WHISKY STORIES 

onward, headlong rush. The water is black and angry 
to-day, and down the hillsides, as if in answer to that 
surly summons from the parent - stream, every runnel 
and sheep-track has become a brawling torrent, and the 
tawny-coloured element is brattling breathless down the 
hill, foaming over craggy buttress, leaping over stone 
and boulder, burrowing under mossy swell, and streaming 
with mad impatience over heather bush and sedgy 
tussock in its eager rush to outpace its gathering 
kinsmen, and mix in the heaving, seething ' meeting of 
the waters,' in the rocky channel of the Esk below. 

The trailing mists caress the mountain peaks. Mount 
Keen with his conical top has not yet doflfed his night- 
cap. Broad Battock stretches behind me swathed in 
sleepy sheets of curling vapour, on which the hot sun is 
now beginning to lavish his consuming ardour. The 
heather will be in full bloom by another week; but 
a forerunner of the coming crimson glory already 
mantles many a swelling pap of the rounded ranges, 
and the shadows chasing each other over the heights 
and long - drawn slopes, alternately soften and again 
enhance the glory of colour and changing hue, with an 
exquisite embellishment that mocks the most cunning 
artist's brush. The fresh air fills each cranny with its 
life-giving flood. It is inspiriting as wine or whisky. 
Ah ! whisky ! That brings me back again to humble, 
plodding prose. 

I promised you some whisky stories, did I not 1 
And I began this chapter too by a reference to grouse 
shooting. We were driving on the hill yesterday. The 
ground was wet and sloppy at the butt behind which I 
sat, watching for the birds. The hillside was like a 



WHISKY STORIES 221 

sponge. The wind, for August, cut keen, and chilled 
the heated frame — heated by a toilsome plunge through 
tangled heather and spongy moss, up Battock's hoary 
flank. My butt is No. 1 at the extreme end of the 
line. Different this to the line of elephants on the Koosee 
Dyaras. Below me sits my cousin George, wiry, keen, 
with a look of the eagle about him, which thirty years' 
active life in South America has perhaps not tended to 
subdue. Next to him my cousin David, grizzled now 
and lined to what I remember him when we made that 
famous march to Ballater in the year — what was it ? 
Ah, me ! how the long procession of the years lengthens 
out as I try to recall that wild excursion. Here we 
three meet again in the same glen, after more than 
thirty years of severance and perilous adventure and 
arduous toil, and, thank God, some solid reward for it 
too, and a full survival of the old kindly affection and 
mutual trust. 

How still it is ! Nought but the sough of the cutting- 
wind ; the plaintive bleating of some distant sheep ; 
a plover's melancholy cry ; the twitter of a restless 
ouzel who flits from rock to rock at fitful intervals, 
setting my nerves on jar, and making me clutch my 
gun in the momentarily recurring belief that here come 
the expected grouse at last. Down the hill, still 
further, I can just discern the gray suit of one of the 
kindliest natures and most genial gentlemen who ever 
tramped the heather. He hails from distant Cuba, and 
every one dubs him ' the General ' : I suppose because 
he is a general favourite, for, bar his moustachios and 
imperial, there is nothing now aggressively military 
about him. Yet there was a time when the Spaniards 



222 WHISKY STORIES 

in Cuba knew what metal entered into the composition 
of our wiry friend. Well he knows the difference 
between the shot gun and the Eemington. I can see, 
too, the top of a head which surmounts some six feet of 
Scottish - Australian brawn and brain. That is my 
Australian chum, the Harper of our party. Further 
down, but hidden by an interveniDg knoll, are two 
London solicitors, and another Sassenach who is the 
most promising 'colt' of the lot — all dead shots and 
gallant gentlemen, but sadly given to drink cider at 
lunch. Just fancy the degeneracy of the age ! Cider 
among the Grampians. What next, I wonder 1 

Bless me ! will the birds never come 1 Cider 1 Ah, 
that reminds me — I have a flask. Good ! What is in 
it 1 Whisky 1 Better still. 

No sound yet of the distant beaters. No sudden 
rush yet of impetuous wings. No startling ' birr-a-birr- 
a-bic-bic-bic,' that sets the blood madly bounding in 
one's pulses, and brings the ready gun to the receptive 
shoulder. No ! All is quiet. Some of the party, I 
verily believe, are half asleep. I am getting drowsy 
myself. The flask ! the flask ! What, ho ! the native 
wine of the country to the rescue ? I unscrew the top ; 
I have filled a little into the metal cap ; when, hark ! 
from George comes the cry of ' Mark covey ! ' and with 
a rush and a swoop the ruddy beauties are upon me. 
Alas ! my hands are full. My gun lies idly on my 

knees. Is it to be grouse or whisky 1 Oh, d 

Tut ! tut ! this will never do ! What, dam the whisky 
of Scotland ? 'Tis impossible, sir ! It cannot be done 
— Sir Wilfrid Lawson and all the yards of blue ribbon in 
the world to the contrary notwithstanding. It simply 



WHISKY STORIES 223 

cannot be done, sir ! You might as well try to dam 
Niagara, or even Chicago, but Scottish whisky 1 No, 
no ! give up the vain attempt. 

Hark, now ! The cries of the distant beaters. Gun- 
shots ring out piff-paff-puff, down the line. The packed 
coveys come hurtling down over the butts, here in 
swooping battalions, from the midst of which you see 
the wounded drop and the feathers fly, and then, bird by 
bird ; and you can see the swift flight suddenly arrested 
and hear the thud, as the feathered quarry bounds and 
rebounds on the heathery knoll. What sensations ! what 
moments of rapture, all too brief ! Ah ! the glory and the 
beauty of it, slaughter though it be. The environment 
of glorious scenery, the free, fresh air, the thrilling 
excitement, the perfect companionship, and — well — 
perhaps, just like the mustard with the sirloin, or the 
oil with the salad — the dash of whisky ! 

You see, dear reader, I cannot exclude it. For twelve 
chapters I have tried to avoid it. There has been here 
and there a brief allusion to the potent liquor, just like 
a stray, solitary grouse at the butts, but now my whisky 
stories, ' an' ye want 'em,' can be on ye in packed coveys 
and battalions. 

The fact is, my friendly publisher, when he first 
did me the compliment of looking over my mass of 
collected notes, ventured to hint in the mildest manner 
that I had 'too many whisky stories.' So I have 
been trying all the time to steer clear of the seductive 
subject, but you see it will not be forbidden. And 
after all I am only a chronicler. I do not myself 
make these whisky stories : I only set down without 
malice and without bias, what I have picked up 'of 



224 WHISKY STORIES 

unconsidered trifles,' and if Sir Wilfrid on the one hand, 
or say James Greenlees on the other, chooses to evolve 
a cut-and-dry hypothesis, or some intricate philosophical 
deduction as to the habits and tendencies of the Scottish 
people from these memoranda, let them do so. The 
people themselves are the final court of appeal, and I 
must endeavour so to select and narrate my material, as 
to preserve, at all hazards, my own character for sobriety 
and impartiality. 

I make no secret of the fact, that so far as Australian 
politics are concerned I am a pronounced Local Optionist 
without Compensation. I adequately, I think, recognise 
the peculiar elements and dangers in the whisky trade ; 
it is one that in the public interest should be under 
close and wise regulation ; but I recognise, too, that until 
human nature is very much altered indeed, it is hopeless 
to expect to 'make men sober by Act of Parliament.' 
The ' abuse ' is the danger. The ' use ' will continue in 
spite of all legislation, especially if the liquor is good 
and cheap ; and some queer arguments might no doubt 
be drawn even from that apparently simple remark. I 
confess, however, as I think I have mentioned in Oor 
Ain Folk, to always having had a certain sympathy 
with John, that genial possessor of a pronounced hiccup, 
and a rubicund proboscis (also pronounced), who on 
being taken to task by the minister, who said he could 
not see what seduction lay in whisky, to make it such 
a potent tyrant as in John's case it seemed to be, volun- 
teered the breezy, complacent statement, which really 
expresses a profound philosophic truth : ' Ah, minister ! 
it's no the whisky ; it's the Here's t'ye ! ' 

In other words, whisky has its social side as well as 



WHISKY STORIES 225 

its repellent, disgusting, bestial side. And most of the 
best Scottish stories connected with the national bever- 
age, are illustrative of the social and humorous side of 
the national character. Besides, it must be remembered 
—and there is great comfort for the teetotallers in this 
—that the standard of moral judgment as to drinking, 
has been immensely raised since the days of our grand- 
fathers. It needs not illustration. Every book of Scot- 
tish reminiscence is full of proof that this is so ; and this 
is the true way in which all lasting reform must come. 
Oh, I wish our strike leaders and stirrers up of strife 
between class and class would recognise this. It is not 
by force but by reason ; not by hasty enactment, but 
by slow, steady, patient, persistent moulding of public 
opinion that progress is made. When public opinion is 
ripe, then comes the enactment, and it being already 
part and parcel of the popular conscience, a ready sub- 
mission is at once given, and every citizen himself 
becomes a willing policeman, to see that the law is 
observed. The divine plan is ' line upon line, precept 
upon precept, here a little and there a little,' until at 
last the broad, comprehensive change is made; and it 
becomes when founded thus on a people's reason and con- 
science, as strong as steel and as enduring as adamant. 

For instance, such men as Jimmy Dewar were as com- 
mon as domestic hens in Scottish villages in my youno- 
days. Their devotion to whisky was open, unabashed, 
unashamed. It was treated as a sort of amiable weakness, 
a laxity, a 'failing,' in Scottish parlance, for which the 
self-indulgent victim was to be pitied and petted rather 
than to be scouted and reprobated. But now, open 
debauchery has to 'hide its 'minished head.' Glaring, 

Q 



226 WHISKY STORIES 

greedy drunkenness of the swinish type has to keep to 
its stye. It must no longer flaunt itself openly in the 
village streets. And why ? Is it because police super- 
vision is better organised and more effectively sustained *? 
Is it because inns and public-houses are in better hands 
and are better administered 1 These and other reasons 
may possibly explain something of the change, but the 
real reason, I take it, is because of a vast change in 
public opinion, notably, too, from a very salutary and 
marked change in the manners of the upper and educated 
classes. Position and wealth and culture have tremen- 
dous responsibilities, and much of the hoggish dissipa- 
tion of a former rude age among the common people, 
was simply due to its being a too faithful reflection of 
the excesses and licentiousness of the upper ' classes of 
society. The national conscience is now, however, more 
finely strung. Public sensibility is quicker to perceive 
'the rank offence' of what was, in sad truth, a great 
national reproach. The change is no doubt due in great 
measure to the efforts of the Temperance party. May 
its power increase, may its influence spread, may its 
earnest workers be encouraged ; but may, too, the appeal 
and the work be ever accompanied by that true temper- 
ance which depends on the righteousness of its cause, 
and the ultimate triumph of every wise and patient 
appeal to reason and conscience, rather than to force and 
passion and prejudice. 

But we are keeping Jimmy Dewar waiting. Well, 
Jimmy was just such a confirmed tippler in one of our 
northern towns, as was very common fifty years ago. The 
ever-growing indulgence in his favourite vice had brought 
him down from a position of comparative affluence to 



WHISKY STORIES 227 

great penury. He had ' drucken awa' hoose an' launds 
an' a gude bizness,' as one of his neighbours comprehen- 
sively said, but undeterred by all his losses, unabashed by 
all his reverses, unwarned by all the sad evidences of his 
debasing thraldom to a vicious habit, he still continued 
to prostrate his very manhood at the shrine of Bacchus, 
with all the fervour and constancy of a confirmed de- 
votee. One day as he was about to toss down another 
jorum of his favourite poison, one of his mates, with 
a slight gleam of imagination working a temporary com- 
punction in him, as he momentarily contrasted the sad, 
blotched wreck before him, with the trim, well-to-do 
master- workman of the olden time, said : ' Eh, man, 
Jimmy, ah'm thinkin' that stuff's jist been yer ruin.' 
' Ou ay, min, so my wife says,' said the case-hardened, 
unabashed toper. Then came the glint of natural, 
rugged humour, which even under such circumstances 
could not be wholly repressed. 'Od, she says I've 
drucken a hoose ! Feth it (hie) maun hae been a thack 
yin (thatched one), for I've never gotten the stoor out 
o' ma mooth yet ! ' and so saying he quaffed off his gill 
to see if that would help to lay the 'stoor.' 

So common were the drinking habits of the former 
generation, so few were the intellectual resources, that 
it is abundantly on record, that much as the Russian 
peasant is now with his vodka, so formerly was the 
farmer in Scotland with his toddy, and the working 
rural classes with their raw whisky. My father used 
to instance the case of two phlegmatic, stolid, hard- 
drinking farmers, who used to meet alternately at each 
other's houses night after night, and sit simply soaking 
in, the regularly recurring 'browsts,' till they were 



228 WHISKY STORIES 

saturated and almost brimming over. The only con- 
versation used to be the challenge of the one, ' Here's 
t'ye, Muckle Tulloh ! ' and the response, ' Thanks t'ye, 
Burnsaggart ! ' varied the next time by Burnsaggart, or 
' Bunsie ' as he was commonly called, taking the response 
to his neighbour's initiative, thus : ' Here's t'ye, Burn- 
saggart ! ' ' Thanks t'ye, Muckle Tulloh ! ' 

This finds its complete parallel in the story related of 
the two Scotch skippers at Penang, who used to meet 
in each other's cabins nightly while their ships were 
being stowed, and used to continue their stolid debauch 
far into the night. They only had the two toasts, and 
on these they rang the changes, with unvarying fidelity 
to the etiquette of the period. The one was, ' The toon 
an' trade o' Leith.' The other was, 'A' ships at sea.' 

A capital instance of the esteem in which good 
whisky was held, is afi'orded by the experience of old 
Mr. Fallon of Albury in N.S.W., a leading mgneron there. 
He had made many expensive and laudable attempts to 
make a good Australian champagne, and on one occasion 
had invited a numerous and representative company to 
taste the wine and give their opinion upon it. Among 
others was an old Scotchman, the popular and well- 
known captain of one of the P. and 0. boats. He was 
a very outspoken, matter-of-fact type of his class, and he 
did not take much pains to conceal his poor opinion of 
the Australian champagne, which, truth to tell, was in 
regard to this particular sample just a trifle tart. Mr. 
Fallon seeing this, said : ' Ah, I'm sorry to see. Captain 

M , that you do not seem to be over favourably 

impressed with the result of my experiments.' Being 
thus challenged, the old sea-dog at once said : ' Weel 



WHISKY STORIES 229 

no, Maister Fallon, I cannot say I am, an' wi' your 
permission I wacl fain synd ma mooth wi' a waucht 
o' oor ain auld naitional drink, for ye see ah'm no great 
judge O' THAE SOOR KINDS.' 

It must surely have been a better brand which caused 
the old farmer's injunction to the attendant Hebe, at 
some dinner where he had for the first time been intro- 
duced to 'the foaming nectar.' At any rate he said 
whisperingly to her : ' Noo, lassie, whin yer daein' nocht 
else, jist be aye poorin' oot some mae o' this sma' yill 
tae me.' 

Very pawky, too, was the reply of an old keeper in 
the north to a query of my brother. The old fellow 
was known as Peter Barrahashlin, and was quite an 
oddity. One day my brother asked him in jocular 
mood : ' Noo, Peter, tell me the truth — was ye ever 
fou ? ' Peter replied : ' Weel, sir, I hef nefer peen drunk, 
put I'll alloo I may haf peen sometimes a leetle fou-lish ' — 
with the accent strong on the first syllable. 

How strong an influence towards moral obliquity is 
the potent potion, and how insidiously it leads the 
partaker towards a facile and dangerous casuistry, is 
evidenced by the following temperance anecdote. An 
old fellow who had taken the pledge, but whose practice 
it was shrewdly suspected did not keep pace with his 
profession, was twitted one day by an acquaintance, who 
expressed some indignation at a laxity which would 
allow of the infraction of a solemn pledge. ' Ah ! ' said 
the old self-apologist with a moist sigh, ' I jist whiles pits 
a wee drappie i' the boddom o' the tum'ler, jist tae warm 
the gless like ; bit, ye ken, I never drinks doon tae the 
whusky.' 



230 WHISKY STORIES 

A friend, of whose sudden death I have heard since 
writing these lines, told me a characteristic story of one 
of ' oor ain f owk ' of the dry, drouthy order. 

My friend Mr. L was desirous of getting down to 

Geelong from Melbourne on some urgent business, and 
having just missed his train, was told he had time still to 
catch the boat. Accordingly he hurried off to the wharf, 
and seeing two boats, he selected the larger and finer- 
looking one of the two, and as it almost immediately 
warped off and proceeded on its way, he inly congratu- 
lated himself on having made a wise selection. 

Presently, however, somewhat to his chagrin, the 
other boat, having now started, began to overhaul 
them, and after a while it rapidly made up to and 

passed them. Mr. L remarked to a quiet-looking, 

dried-up sort of a fellow-passenger, who from his bonnet 
and general appearance he took to be a ' brither Scot ' : 
' Dear me, I thought this was the fastest boat ! ' 

'Oh no, sir,' was the response in broadest Doric, 
' that yin startit ahint us, but she'll get in hauf an 'oor 
aheid o' us.' 

' An' why did ye no gang by her then ? ' asked Mr. 
L . 

' Oh ! ' — with a pawky leer — ' this yin's a saxpence 
cheaper, an', ye ken, I can get a gless o' whusky wi' that 
when we get in.' 

This is very like the story of two old bodies in Tain, 
who lived by making straw mats, known as lasses. Once 
a week they used to come in to Tain from Kilmure to 
buy their boll of meal, which they used to wheel out 
again to Kilmure a distance of six miles. One day, one 
of the bailies ventured to gently remonstrate with them 



WHISKY STORIES 231 

for this extraordinarily needless toil, pointing out that 
they only got the meal a sixpence cheaper in Tain. 
' Ah, bailie,' was the reply, ' but ye see we get the 
twa gills wi' the saxpence on the w'y oot.' 

Being on whisky stories reminds me of a quaint 

saying of Eobert M , a fine farmer of the old 

school, who was tenant of Leuchlands, near Brechin. In 
the booths at the markets there used to be a small glass 
in common use known locally as ' a wee Donal'.' Old 

Mr. M held these in abhorrence, and was partial 

to the good old-fashioned pewter gill-stoup. His par- 
tiality was manifested thus on one occasion. Having 
ordered the drink, the attendant Hebe prepared to cir- 
culate the small glasses, but Mr. M in stentorian 

tones shouted : ' Hoots, lassie, jist gie's a gill ; ye ken 

fat yer doin' wi' a gill, but as for thae d d Donal's, 

ye dinna ken far ye're gaun ava' ! ' 

Under somewhat similar circumstances, in the same 
locality, another impatient, drouthy farmer was kept 
waitino; what he thought an unconscionable time for the 
drink he had ordered. Rather sharply he called out to 
the lassie, bewildered with many orders, and asked her 
what in the world she was doing. 

' Hech, sir, I'm lookin' for the gill-stoup ! ' she said. 

' Hoots, 'umman,' was the instant reply, ' come awa' 
wi' the bottle ; never mind the stoup ; my mooth jist 
bauds a gill.' 

In further illustration of the change which has come 
over public opinion in regard to drinking habits, it 
would, I daresay, not be possible for a minister nowa- 
days to speak to his flock as it is reported an old-time 
minister did some time early in the century, when he 



232 WHISKY STORIES 

was fencing the Communion Table. ' My freens,' he 
said, 'you would all like to go to heeven; but what 
kin' o' a heeven wad ye like to go to ? Well, I'll tell 
you. You would just like the Cromarty Firth to be bilin' 
watter, the Black Isle to be loaf sugar, an' the Beauly 
rinnin' whisky, an' ye wad jist brew an' drink, an' drink 
an' brew, to all eternity.' 

That was perhaps not an outrageous exaggeration of 
the then popular vice. One may chronicle with honest 
thankfulness that ' sweeter manners' and more temperate 
habits now prevail. 

Mr. John T. Clough, a genial old acquaintance of 
mine 'on the road' in Australia, has sent me a few very 
good illustrations of some of the salient features of 
Scottish character. Some, I regret to say, would 
scarcely bear repetition outside the walls of the ' com- 
mercial smoking-room,' but the following are worthy of 
being recorded : — 

The first is a capital illustration of Scottish caution. 
Scene — A favourite ' howf ' in one of the large Lowland 
toons. Time — Setterday nicht. Dramatis ^ersonce — 
Three drouthy cronies, whose appearance amply testifies 
to the sincerity of their attachment to the national 
beverage. One of the three is being pressed by the 
others to partake of another dram ; but to their undis- 
guised amazement he refuses. They redouble their in- 
vitations, and one exclaims : ' Losh, man, An'ra, ye 
surely dinna mean to say that ye'll no tak' ony mair the 
nicht ; and you no half slockened yet ? It's pairf ectly 
rideeklus. Toots, man, yer haverin'; ye maun hae 
anither dram.' Andrew, with a deep sigh of regret, 
responds : ' Weel, no the nicht, billies ; ye see I've 



WHISKY STORIES 233 

jist shiftet ma lodgin's, an' ah'm no vera weel acquent wi' 
the stair yet.' 

It might have been Andrew of whom the following 
is told : — 

' A worthy worshipper at the shrine of Bacchus/ 
writes Mr. dough (you see how thoroughly Scottish 
he is, in that he bestows the commendatory adjective 
on the drouthy knave !), ' had been persuaded by his 
minister (it was in a Galloway parish) to eschew his 
bibulous proclivities and sign the pledge. He had kept 
it with praiseworthy fidelity for some short time, and 
the minister was so pleased, that, having arranged for a 
temperance meeting to be held in the school-house, he 
determined to exhibit the new convert as . one of the 
triumphs of the occasion. Meeting Andrew, therefore, 
the good minister insisted on taking him on to the plat- 
form along with other leading lights, and, after much 
hesitation, Andrew consented. The night came, and 
with it a crowded audience thronged the school-room — 
for the change in Andrew had been the current topic of 
conversation in the parish for some time. The minister 
delivered the usual introductory address, and alluded 
with pardonable gratulation to the fact of Andrew having 
now become a pledged teetotaller, a changed man, etc. etc., 
and announced that no doubt their reformed friend would 
be glad to say a few words anent his experiences. 

' After much coaxing and hand -clapping, and the 
usual popular methods of encouraging a modest speaker, 
Andrew got to his feet, looking red and uncomfortable, 
and after clearing his throat, began : " Dear freens, ye 
a' ken me (cheers). AVeel, I've been teetottle for the 
better feck o' a fortnicht " (great cheering). 



234 WHISKY STORIES 

' Minister (aside) — " Gang on, Andrew, tell them how 
ye feel." 

^Andrew (continuing) — "Weel, ma freens, dod, tae 
tell ye the truth, I dinna feel muckle the warn* o't ! 
(Hear ! hear !) I'm thinkin', sirss, the noo, that I've 
already saved as muckle i' the fortnicht as wad mebbe 
buy a coffin ! " (Hear ! hear !) Minister — " Gang on, 
Andrew, ye're doin' grand ! " Andrew (desperately) — 
" Dod, ma freens, as sure's deith, I dinna ken what tae 
say neist, but ah'm thinkin' if I'm teetottle for anither 
fortnicht, I'll need it ! " ' . 

Such an unlooked-for ddnouement was, no doubt, an 
unwelcome surprise for the minister, but there is such 
an air of sophistication and strained humour about the 
story, that I am inclined to think it is a weak fabrication 
of the enemy, designed to have a sly dig at the tee- 
totallers. Quite as much, but only from the opposition 
side, might be said of the following, which appears too 
neatly put together almost, to be natural — too cut-and- 
dry altogether, too much of the goody-goody, namby- 
pamby order to be real. However, as I am sworn to 
hold the balances even, let it be told, as it scores against 
Boniface, although it has already been in print. 

The tale goes that a labourer at the harbour of 
Dundee lately told his wife a curious dream which he 
said he had experienced during the night. He dreamed 
that he saw coming towards him, in order, four rats. 
The first one was very fat, and was followed by two lean 
rats, the rear rat being blind. The dreamer was greatly 
perplexed as to what evil might follow, as it has been 
understood that to dream of rats denotes coming calamity. 
He appealed to his wife concerning this, but she, poor 



WHISKY STORIES 235 

woman, could not help him. His son, a sharp lad, who 
had heard his father tell the story, volunteered to be 
the interpreter. 'The fat rat,' said he, 'is the man 'at 
keeps the public-hoose that ye gang till sae aften ; an' 
the twa lean yins are me an' ma mither.' ' An' the 
blin' yin 1 ' asked the father. ' Oh, the blin' yin's jist 
yersel'.' 

The next is evidently from the whisky side. A 
rather self-complacent teetotal lecturer at the end of a 
glowing peroration in favour of total abstinence, and 
with just possibly a slightly inflated sense of his own 
social importance, after mentioning several notable names 
whom he claimed as belonging to his own persuasion, he 
patted himself on the breast and pompously said : * I 
myself also am a teetotaller.' A bibulous-looking old 
hag close to the platform simply convulsed the audience 
by saying quite audibly : 'Puir craetur, he jist looks 
like yin.' 

Eather an ingenious rebuke is contained in the fol- 
lowing, told of a Highland minister, who found one of 
his parishioners under the vicious influence. Next day 
he called to rebuke him for his evil excess. ' It is 
wrong to get drunk,' said the minister. ' I ken that,' 
said the unrepentant sinner, ' but I dinna drink as muckle 
as ye dae yersel'.' This was carrying the war into the 
enemy's country with a vengeance, and the minister no 
doubt looked as astonished as he felt. ' How do you 
make that out?' he indignantly asked. 'Weel, sir,' 
said the pawky Scot, ' divna ye aye tak' a gless o' whisky 
an' watter efter denner 1 ' ' Yes, certainly,' assented 
the minister ; ' I take a glass of whisky and water after 
dinner, but merely to assist digestion.' 'Jist that,' 



236 WHISKY STORIES 

said Jeems. ' An' dinna ye tak' a tum'ler o' toddy ilka 
nicht when ye're gaun tae bed?' 'Yes, to be sure,' 
again assented the minister, ' but that's just to help me 
to sleep.' ' Aweel,' proceeded the imperturbable Jeems, 
'that mak's jist fourteen glesses i' the week, an' gey 
near saxty ilka munth. Noo, ye see, I only get pyed 
my waages ilka munth, and if I wis tae tak' saxty glesses 
fin I get pyed, I wad be deid-drunk for a week. Ye 
see, minister, the only differ atween the twa o's, is jist 
that ye time yours better than I dae.' 

Here are a few good whisky stories which my good 

friend Mr. M. gave me on board the s.s. Orotava, 

and as they were all new to me, I hope they may prove 
fresh to many of my readers. The first illustrates in 
characteristic fashion, the hold that the drink habit gets 
on its votaries, and the frank unconsciousness of any 
sense of shame in the victim. 

Drouthy old carle to publican on a Sunday morn- 
ing :— 

' Tammas, can ye gimme a hauf mutchkin 1 ' 

' Eh, man, ye ken it's the Sawbath Day. I can gie 
ye nane the day. Besides, I gied ye hauf a mutchkin 
awa' wi' ye last nicht.' 

' Hoots, man, did ye think I could sleep wi' whusky 
i' the hoose *? ' 

The next shows the social camaraderie of whisky 
drinkers. 

Two cronies, unco fou, of the ' Tam o' Shanter and 
Souter Johnnie' type, are shauchlin' along together, each 
trying to uphaud the ither, when at length the fouest 
of the twain fell heavily to mother earth, and there he 
lay. The other tried in vain to raise him. He could 



WHISKY STORIES 237 

with difficulty maintain his own balance, and at length, 
with a muddled sense of the claims of boon companion- 
ship, said, suiting his actions to his words : ' Aweel, 
Sandie (hiccup), I canna lift ye ; but (hie) od, man, 
I like ye that weel, I'll jist (hie) lie doon aside ye.' 

Of much the same conduct is that related of a poor, 
drucken, doited bodie in the Saut Market, who, after 
vainly trying to maintain his swaying balance, at length 
fell prone in the syver or gutter, which at the time 
happened to be well flushed with water. The cold water 
awoke him to a dim sort of consciousness, and by some 
association of ideas he evidently imagined himself in 
the water, and began striking out vigorously with legs 
and arms like a man in the act of swimming. Just 
then the policeman came up and grabbed him from 
behind ; but he, still under the influence of his dominant 
idea, struck out all the more vigorously, and bawled 
out : ' Never mind me ! I can soom. Help them that 
canna soom.' 

He must have been of the same kidney as the old 
toper of whom it is told, that being surprised by a 
friend one day lying on his face at the burnside, 
greedily drinking the pure fresh water, he was asked : — 

' What's that yer daein', Tammas ? ' 

' Oh, I'm makkin' toddy.' 

' Hoo's that na ? ' 

' Oh, ye see, I hed the whusky last nieht.' 

There used to be a well-known ' howf ' at Alloa, near 
the pier, kept by a Boniface named Harry Rutherford. 
One day a friend of mine heard the following pithy 
colloquy between two rather dingy loungers on the pier. 
Said the one : — 



238 WHISKY STORIES 

' Come awa' intae Hainy Eutherford's, Tarn, an' I'll 
gie ye a drink o' sma'.' 

' No thank ye,' responded Tarn rather cavalierly ; 
' no the day. I'm no sma' dry.' 

Tam's complaint was evidently deeper seated than 
anything that mere 'sma' ' would alleviate. 

Talking of ' sma' ' I remember hearing a reminiscence 
of an old commercial traveller that lets a little light 
into the doings of the unsophisticated and immaculate 
licensed victualler. It seems he had sold a 'line' of 
bulk porter to an old landlady who kept a well-known 
House of Call, and on his next visit he was assailed by 
the old lady with indignant protests and denunciations 
concerning the quality of the last supply of porter. 

The weather had been warm, and he fancied there 
might just be some little thing wrong which he could 
remedy, so as she said she could not sell it, that no one 
would drink it, etc., he requested that it might be 
shown to him. The old lady, evidently in a very bad 
temper, snappishly refused, telling him she had no time 
to spare. Her little niece stood by, and the traveller, 
not wishing to lose a good customer, said : ' Oh, do not 
you bother ; but let your bit lassock come wi' me, and I 
can see then what's wrong.' 

Away they accordingly went to the cellar, and on draw- 
ing some of the porter, it frothed up terrifically, and he at 
once thought he had hit on a solution of the trouble. ' Oh,' 
said he to the lassie, ' ye stupid little jaud, this porter's a' 
richt. It only wants some sma' yill mixin' intill't.' 

' Hech,' said the lassock, unconsciously disclosing her 
auntie's trade secret, ' I never saw her pit mair sma' beer 
intae ony porter that ever cam' intae the hoose afore.' 



WHISKY STORIES 239 

In fact, the old bodie had overdone it. 

Just another, while I am on the topic. How true it 
is, and how natural, that we all adopt standards of com- 
parison suggested by our own environment ! This is 
rather whimsically illustrated by the anecdote told of an 
old publican or inn-keeper at Loch Lomond, who used 
invariably to classify his customers according to their 
drinks, if he had occasion to speak of them. Thus, 
being asked if he knew 'Sir Somebody So-and-so,' he 
would reply with unctuous em^ressement as he rubbed 
his fat hands together : — 

' Ou ay ! a fine fallow that — a graund fallow — cham- 
pagne ilka day, him ! Ay, champagne ev-ery day, sir.' 

' Yes ! An' d'ye ken So-and-so ? ' 

' Yes,' with an airy complacency; 'yes ; a dacent sort 
o' man him. Indeed a vera dacent sort o' man. Port 
an' sherry, sir. Ay, jist that, port an' sherry, port an' 
sherry.' 

' Ay ! An' So-and-so. D'ye ken him 1 ' 

' Ou ay, sir, weel eneuch ! A puir sort o' craetur, 
sir. Bottled yill, man ; jist bottled yilL' 

This is quite on a par with the nomenclature of the old 
minister, who used to speak of claret as puir washy stuff, 
fit for English Episcopawlians an' the like ; or brandy 
as het an' fiery, like thae Methodists. ' Sma' beer ' was 
thin an' meeserable like thae Baptists; and so on 
through the whole gamut of drinks and sects ; but in- 
variably he would finish up by producing the whisky 
bottle, and patting it would exclaim : ' Ah, the rael 
Auld Kirk o' Scotland, sir. There's naething beats it.' 

One of the favourite punning old stories that used 
to be told round the glowing peat-fire fn the old farm- 



240 WHISKY STORIES 

house up the Glen was the following. It afibrds a quaint 
glimpse of the old spinning-wheel days and the pre- 
valent apologetic temper towards the national failing. The 
minister comes off second-best, and Janet the drouthy, 
has decidedly the best of it in the encounter of wits. 

Old Janet was a regular 'hard case.' She had 
indeed ' broken bounds,' and become such a perfect 
nuisance with her ever-recurring drinking bouts that at 
length even the easy-going neighbour folk were moved 
to protest, and after many warnings and expostulations 
they at length took the extreme step of appealing to the 
then all - powerful and much - feared authority, ' the 
minister himsel'.' Janet was ' named ' to the minister 
in a much more than Parliamentary way, and in the 
hope that his official monitions might have some effect 
on the hardened old toper. How he succeeded in his 
mission is evident from the following colloquy, which I 
have heard from dear, red, loving lips, many a time, ' to 
keep the loons quaiet.' 

After passing the usual good -day to the blear-eyed 
old crone in the reeky, close cabin, which was all Janet 
had for a habitation, the minister began diplomatically 
by saying :— 

'Ay, Janet, I hear ye've been reelin' ' — meaning 
' reelin' fou,' a common expression for being tipsy. 

' Aweel, sir,' said the quick-witted Janet, purposely 
misunderstanding him, 'we maun aye reel efter we 
spin, ye ken.' 

' Ah, but Janet, that's not what I mean. I hear ye 
have been drinking, and that without measure, too.' 

' Na na, sir, ye've heard wrang. A' the little 'at I 
drink's aye measured, an' weel measured tae.' 



WHISKY STORIES 241 

' Ah, Janet, evasion ill becomes ye. Do you not 
know where drunkards go to ? ' 

' Hoot ay, sir, brawlies that. They jist gang whaur 
they can get the best drink an' the maist for their 
siller.' 

'JSTa, na, Janet,' said the good man, solemnly shaking 
his head ; ' they go where there's weeping and wailing 
and gnashing of teeth.' 

' Aweel, aweel, sir,' said the hopeless old reprobate, 
' let them 'at his teeth, gnash teeth, but, as for me, I 
hinna haen ane left i' my heid for mair nor thretty 
years.' 

Janet was too evidently in ' the bond of iniquity,' 
and the minister had 'to confess that he could make no 
impression on her. She must have been just as hope- 
lessly obdurate and unabashed as the reeling Bacchanal 
in Edinburgh, of whom the following is told by a very 
precise, trim, elegant banker of the old school. He was 
leaving the bank one evening, spotlessly neat as usual, 
and delicately drawing on his gloves, when suddenly 
with a ' staucherin' ' lurch he was run into by a regular 
Silenus, almost overflowing with his favourite tipple. 
The disgusted and outraged banker with icy politeness 
said very testily to the leering sot : — 

' My good man, what do you want 1 ' 

Instantly came the happy, hiccuping reply : ' Want ? 
(hie). I want naething ! (hie). I'm as fou 's I can 
hand.' 

But I must turn off the whisky tap although not 
nearly exhausted, for, truth to tell, it is not a very 
elevating or even an amusing subject. 



CHAPTEE XIY 

SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

The national conceit — Shakespeare as a Scotsman — The com- 
placent meal-man — The self-satisfied captain — ' A mairchant ' 
on good terms with himself— Professional complacency — A 
near shot — Sir Robert Hamilton's story — A novel reason for 
church attendance — 'The salt of the earth' — 'As ithers see 
us' — Awful ultimate fate of a Scotsman — The colonial 
version. 

I HAVE referred more than once to the strong sense 
of individuality which the old Scottish training was 
designed to strengthen and develop. The hard, frugal 
home-life nurtured the sturdy virtues of industry, per- 
sistence, thrift, patience, and determination. The parish 
school and university between them, helped on the 
mental and intellectual faculties in much the same 
direction. The path of learning was a hard and thorny 
one ; ' the race ' was very much ' to the swift ' and ' the 
battle to the strong.' Success then, and indeed the very 
effort to achieve it, not unfrequently begot rather a hard, 
steely disregard of the struggles of others, and a corre- 
sponding self-satisfaction and a complacent appreciation 
of one's own powers and performances. Humorous in- 
stances of this have been cited often enough, but in the 



SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 243 

whole texture of the national character there was 
always a healthy mental appraisement. The Scot took 
stock of himself and of others in a frank, manly, inde- 
pendent way. It is well expressed in the exposition 
which I once heard a dear old Scottish minister give of 
the apostolic injunction to 'think soberly' of oneself. 
He pointed out, I thought very quaintly, yet with good 
reason, that 'Paul, no doubt, wanted to caution 
Timothy against being too priggish and conceited, but 
" soberly " meant, at the same time, that he was not to be 
unduly retiring and stupidly mock-modest. In fact he 
was to have a good, honest, reasonable, and fair conceit 
o' himsel'.' 

The extreme was to be avoided, and in self-appraise- 
ment as in most things else, the happy mean is to be 
aimed at. There can be little doubt that envious de- 
tractors have not unfrequently magnified and distorted 
this perfectly legitimate attitude of mind on the part of 
Scotsmen in 'comparing themselves with themselves,' 
or with others, and so an abundant crop of stories has 
sprung up and been chronicled, in which rather the 
caricature of my countryman's self-complacency, as well 
as of his caution for instance, his thrift, or his patriotism, 
have been distorted and quite misrepresented. 

One rather laughable instance at once suggests itself 
to my mind in illustration of this traditional self- 
sufficiency and proverbial ' gude conceit ' of the typical 
Scot. 

It happened in a mixed company in some public 
room, and a discussion had arisen between two of the 
guests, which soon became general, as to some recent 
speculations upon the authorship of certain of Shake- 



244 SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

speare's plays. The old, old arguments as to ' the Bacon- 
ian ' and other theories had been stated, and at length a 
general laugh of a derisive sort had been raised, by a 
young traveller in a jocular sort of way, stating that 
' there were not a few, especially from " north the 
Tweed," who on the strength of a few scattered allusions 
in Macbeth, fOr instance, actually advanced the absurd 
hypothesis that "the divine William" must certainly 
have been a Caledonian.' A saturnine-looking, sallow, 
lantern-jawed individual in the corner, who had hitherto 
preserved a stolid silence, suddenly interposed, with an 
acid sort of tone in his voice, and with not a little 
indignant heat, saying in broad Doric: 'Weel, gentlemen, 
I can see naething to lauch at in such a supposeetion, 
for ye maun alloo that the abeelity displayed wad fairly 
warrant the inference.' 

That is an example of what might be called the broad, 

impersonal, national conceit. The Eev. John S 

of Edinburgh tells the story of a northern Scot who had 
gone to market to sell some meal, which illustrates the 
personal and particular possession of the same quality by 
some of ' oor ain folk.' The poor man had stood in the 
fair all day, but had got never an offer for his meal. At 
last, as evening fell, he left the market feeling not a little 
dejected. On the way home he called at a ' howf ' by 
the wayside and ordered a gill. He slowly quaffed the 
distilled balm and felt not a little cheered. It seemed 
somehow to resuscitate him considerably in his own 
good opinion of himself. He ordered another. This 
made him quite buoyant. He became comparatively 
cheerful, and from being gloomy and taciturn he passed 
into the communicative stage and began to detail his 



SCOTTISH GOMPLAGENGY 245 

day's experiences to the landlord. After he had finished 
the second gill his usual normal self-sufficiency would 
seem to have been quite restored, as he wound up by a 
burst of self-assertion in this fashion : ' 'Deed ay, they'll 
find the grunds o' their stammicks, afore I'll offer them 
my meal again.' 

Poor Sandie's self-complacency, however, was per- 
haps not so pronouncedly smug, as that of an old ship 
captain of whom I have heard. An intending passenger 
of some pretensions to good birth and high station, and 
who had himself rather an exalted opinion of his own 
importance, had called at the ship to see the accommo- 
dation, and had been shown over the cabins by the chief 
steward. The would-be magnate had passed comments 
on the fittings, asked minutely about the cuisine and 
attendance, and so on, and was just about to ask what 
sort of a man the captain was, when that worthy himself 
appeared on the scene, beaming with his usual self- 
complacency, and the steward did the necessary intro- 
duction, saying : ' Oh, here's the captain himself, sir.' 

' Haw — captain,' said the lofty one, 'I have just been 
looking ovaw — haw — your ship — haw — and I am rathaw 
pleased with her — aw ! I think the cawbins — haw — are 
woomy and clean ; and I was thinking that — aw — I might 
do worse — aw — than take a voyage — aw — with you — aw.' 

Smiling with gratified complacency the captain thus 
responded : — 

"Deed ye micht dae far waur than that, sir. The 
ship's weel aneuch nae doot. But ye see, sir, ye'll hae 
ither advantages. Ye see, I'm no like some cawptains. 
'Deed no ! I dinna keep masel' tae masel' like some. 
An' I jist try to treat my paissengers as my equils.' 



246 SCOTTISH COMPLAGE^GY 

The innocent sort of rustic complacency arising from 
a continually indulged self-confession of superiority in a 
narrow, restricted circle where a man meets little opposi- 
tion, and competition is absent, is amusingly shown in 
the incident I am now about to relate. A famous London 
merchant, whose ships sailed the seas of every quarter 
of the globe, and whose transactions were of great magni- 
tude, embracing dealings with almost every known port 
of any consequence, had taken a shooting away up in 
the north, and being a man of active mind and very 
practical, he delighted to throw himself energetically 
into any movement around him of a public or beneficial 
character. Some agitation had arisen over some local 
matter — roads perhaps, or the local school, or some other 
thing — and the rich merchant from the big house strolled 
down to the meeting which had been convened to discuss 
the subject. There was much division of opinion, and 
many foolish suggestions were made. The speech 
which most commended itself to the amused man of 
millions, was that made by a little keen-looking man, 
very wizened but very vigorous, and he enforced his 
arguments with good language and apposite illustra- 
tions. The city merchant exercised his rights as a 
resident and ratepayer, and he, too, rose and made a 
strong, forceful, direct speech in support of the line 
advocated by the little weazen-faced mannie, whom, on 
inquiry from the neighbour sitting next him, he found 
to be the local sweetie and snuff seller, or, as any trader 
of the sort, no matter how small, is called in this part of 
the north, 'the village merchant.' After the meeting 
the two orators of like opinions met, and the \allage 
huckster, gratified at the support he had received from 



SCOTTISH GOMPLAGENGY 247 

such an eloquent and distinguished-looking stranger, 
manifested another Scottish characteristic, namely, that 
mixture of caution and curiosity which leaves its holder 
no rest till it has been satisfied ; and after exchanging 
ordinary greetings the rustic asked the great commercial 
luminary : — 

' Ay, an' fat micht you be noo, na 1 ' 

' Oh, I'm a merchant.' 

' Yea, na ? Od that's gey na ! Ay, ay ! an' so 
ye're a mairchant, are ye ? Weel that's queer too, na ! 
for ye see I'm a mairchant masel'. But ah'll be thinkin' 
ah'll be a bittie better nor you.' 

' Indeed ! How so 1 ' said the much-amused capitalist. 

' Ow, ye see, I hiv the post-offish as weel's the chop ' 
(shop). 

The national complacency when it takes a pro- 
fessional bent would seem, however, even to survive a 
translation from a narrow, restricted sphere into the 
broader environment where competition is keener and 
opportunities for comparison more frequent ; at least 
one might judge so from my next dive into my note- 
book. 

A Scottish gardener who had been filling a good 
situation in England, had gone north to his native place 
for a holiday. Perhaps he was suffering from a slight 
attack of , Heimweh as our German cousins call home- 
sickness. At any rate, while enjoying the caller air of 
his native hills he had been asked by an old crony : 
' Ay, an' hoo div ye like thae Englitchers, na 1 ' The 
calm, deep, abiding, ineffable sense of lofty, patronising 
superiority that shone through the answer was, I think, 
simply delicious from the Scottish point of view. ' Oh, 



248 SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

weel, I canna tak' it upo' me to say onythin' parteec'lar 
agin' them, for they've been vera guid tae me. But, 
efter a', I maun alloo that if ye want the like o' a gair'ner 
noo, or a minister, or onythin' o' that kin' that requires 
heid wark, ye've aye to come farrer north.' 

It was not absent even from the pulpit if one may 
judge from the complacent, unctuous sort of way in 
which one worthy clergyman in the north used to include 
in his prayer, when Her Majesty was residing near by, a 
petition for her most gracious Majesty under the designa- 
tion of 'Oor illustrious neebor noo residin' in these pairts.' 

Nor is it confined exclusively to the old. The 
youthful Scot is fully possessed with the same sublime 
self-satisfaction, which is quite impervious to all assault 
and is equal to every fortune. My friend Major Hannay 
is responsible for the following naive example of the 
truth of this. 

As a boy he and his brother had been out with the 
head keeper rabbit shooting. They had a rustic lad 
with them who was working the ferrets, and ladlike was 
dying with eager desire to handle a gun and be allowed 
to have a shot at a real live rabbit. There had been a 
pause while the grizzled old keeper had been lighting 
his pipe. He had given the lad Johnnie the gun to 
hold. Just then the ferrets turned out quite a bevy of 
bunnies. The eager lad could not restrain himself. 
The coveted gun was in his grasp. Up it went to his 
shoulder, and he let fly at the scampering rabbits, bang ! 
bang ! but, alas ! he missed the rabbits and destroyed a 
good patch of turf instead. The old veteran, pulling and 
puffing at his obdurate pipe like a half-started steam- 
engine, said very dryly, wishing to abash and reprove the 



SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 249 

lad : ' Ay, John, ye wir mair nor twa yairds aff'n that 
yin.' To which John, still aglow v,^ith the rapture of 
having actually fired a shot, complacently rejoined, 
much to the old keeper's disgust : ' Ou ay, ah kent ah 
wisna far aff'nt.' 

The quality would seem, too, to survive even expatria- 
tion and transplantation to a foreign strand. Of this, 
Sir Eobert Hamilton, the late able Governor of Tasmania, 
gave me a good illustration at the Mansion House 
dinner on St. George's Day, where I had the good 
fortune to be seated next my genial and gifted friend. 
He was good enough to compliment me on the success 
of Dor Ain Folk, and the conversation turned to the topic 
of Scottish characteristics. He narrated an experience 
which bef el him on one occasion in Melbourne. He had 
been the guest of Sir Henry Loch at Government 
House, and a special concert had been arranged in 
honour of the distinguished company then gathered as 
guests of Sir Henry. For the honoured visitors a 
reserved circle had been set apart, and when the seats 
were filled. Sir Eobert, who is an old Aberdeen Uni- 
versity prizeman, and a patriotic, observant Scotsman, 
noticed with, I am sure, a very pardonable pride that 
with a single exception (and he was Welsh) all the other 
high dignitaries present as specially honoured guests were 
his fellow-countrymen. There were two Governors ; the 
Premier, Mr. Duncan Gillies, now Agent-General for 
Victoria ; Mr. Nimmo, Minister of Lands ; Sir James 
M'Bain, President of the Council, and one or two others 
w^hose names I forget. It was on a Saturday night, 
and Sir Eobert had, perforce, to leave for Tasmania very 
early on the Monday. He wished to make a call of 



250 SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

ceremony on a dear old Scottish lady whose husband 
held very high office in the State, and who indeed had 
borne the chief part in getting up the musical entertain- 
ment in honour of the visitors ; and there was no help 
for it but to call on the Sabbath afternoon. He did so, 
and was received with a certain amount of stiffness by 
the good old lady, who in a peculiarly dry, matter-of- 
fact, frank, Scottish fashion contrived to let her titled 
visitor understand that she did not approve of Sabbath 
visits. The Glovernor, however, was too practised a 
diplomatist to allow this feeling long to linger, and 
immediately went on to speak of the delightful and 
successful concert the previous evening. Knowing, too, 
the old lady's fervid patriotism and her intense nation- 
ality, he proceeded to express the delight he had felt in 
seeing so many high and responsible offices filled by her 
fellow-countrymen. The fine old dame began to thaw at 
once. The allusion evidently much mollified her, and 
when Sir Robert detailed the result of his previous 
evening's observation as to the occupants of the seats of 
honour, she remarked in the broadest Aberdeen Doric : 
' Ou ay. Sir Robert, there's mebbe no sae mony o's 
as ye wad think, but what there are, are a' o' the vera 
best oot here.' 

The sense of self-importance may, of course, and 
often does, become a fault; but when it takes the 
whimsical shape of making a man think himself of such 
sufficient importance as even to influence the humours 
of his Satanic Majesty, it may perhaps be counted some- 
thing abnormal even for a Scotsman, 

It is told of a hardened old reprobate, who had long 
ago been given over by minister and 'neebors,' and 



SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 251 

even by his own family, as a hopelessly incorrigible case, 
that one morning, when the rest of the household were 
preparing for church attendance, he astounded his wife 
by saying : ' Weel, Janet, I've been thinkin' I'll just gang 
wi' ye tae the kirk this mornin'.' 

The poor wife scarce knew what to think. She scarce 
dared to indulge in the sweet hope that her hard-hearted 
'man' was at length softening and yielding to good 
influences. So very tremblingly, and with almost a 
greetin' gratefulness, she said : ' Eh, An'ra, but that 
will be nice ; but what's garred ye cheenge yer mind 
the dayf 

This was a very unwise move on the part of the wife. 
It roused An'ra's obstinacy and his self-importance at 
once, and he extinguished the good wife's grateful 
anticipations by saying : ' Weel, I think I'll gang for 
yince, jist to vex the deil.' 

Now it is only in accord with the first instincts 
of unregenerate human nature that this complacent 
assumption of superiority should awaken envy and even 
strong antagonism. It is not in the nature of things 
that others in whom the same ' good conceit of them- 
selves ' is well developed should tamely submit to this 
calm and, it must be confessed, irritating subordination 
of themselves, this cool relegation of themselves to an 
inferior place. They cannot see why they should be 
classed in a second-hand category or catalogue, as it 
were, nor why Scotsmen alone should be looked on 
as 'the elect,' the 'salt of the earth,' the peculiarly 
'chosen people,' as most Scots, even unconsciously to 
themselves, very often complacently assume. Thus 
it is that we have the picture of Scottish character 



252 SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

occasionally painted on the reverse side, and this feeling 
of restiveness is really the source and the reason of the 
many stories that possibly less-privileged peoples love to 
tell at the expense of Scottish faults and foibles, if such 
can be said really to exist. I speak now, of course, as a 
Scot. 

I must say, however, in justice to my countrymen, that 
very few indeed of them ever take these seriously. They 
are so assured, so convinced of their own superiority, 
that these ' weak inventions of the enemy ' only provoke 
a smile, and in the more genial natures evoke hearty 
laughter. Some have even been known to turn the 
tables on the adversary by giving some clever, unexpected 
twist to the apologue or parable that was supposed to be 
turned against themselves ; and I could give some note- 
worthy instances of this experience where ' the biter has 
been bit.' But it would be unfair in me, a thorough 
Scotsman, albeit one of the humble and retiring order, 
to unduly boast over our exceptional advantages, and so 
out of the kindliest consideration for those of my readers 
who may not be of ' the chosen people,' I will mercifully 
desist. I think it only fair, however, to give one or two 
examples of the sort of sorry stuff that is sometimes 
vainly supposed to tell against the superlative and 
transcendent merits of the true Scot. 

But to be serious. That the onlooker sees most of 
the game is no doubt a true saying, seeing that he is in 
a position to take a less prejudiced and broader view of 
the varying ' chances and changes ' which to a participant 
in the fight may often be seen only from a partial or 
purely personal standpoint. So it is that outside criti- 
cism is generally so valuable, and though Scottish self- 



SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 253 

complacency is, as a rule, serenely indifferent to censure, 
it is always interesting to hear ourselves described 

As ithers see us. 

Indeed, we quite welcome the criticism; whether we 
profit by it or no is quite another matter. 

For that reason the American's estimate of our 
national character is worthy of record. A discussion 
had arisen as to the relative vices and virtues of the 
partners in the great British firm, and while some were 
vaunting certain salient features of Irish nationality, and 
others belauding the essentials of English character, a 
tall American chimed in with his epitomised sort of 
summary of the whole. And thus he delivered himself : — 

'Wal I guess it's some'ut like this. S'posin' there 
wus three trav'lers in a railway kerridge — an English- 
man, an Irishman, an' a Scotsman ; an' s'posin' the train 
come to its destination, how wud them three act ? ' 

He paused for a reply, and none being forthcoming, 
he proceeded : — 

'Wal I'll tell you. The Irishman, I guess, 'ud jist 
step right out an' go slick on his way, mebbe whistlin', 
but at any rate pretty spry, and not carin' a darn about 
anythin' or anybody. Wal, now, the Englishman 'ud be 
more deliberate. He'd be perfectly calm and cool and 
methodical. He would arrange his wraps an' pick up 
his bag, and he would start off" in a ruther consequential 
and very self-possessed manner. Arter that, last of all, 
the Scotsman, more deliberate still, would stretch hisself, 
and pick up his wraps and bag ; but before leavin' the 
kerridge he'd look round to see if the others had 

LEFT anythin' — YOU BET ! ' 



254 SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 

Let us take another. One of the many waggish 
stories which are told at the expense of ' oor ain fowk ' 
by outsiders who cannot understand our deep love of a 
country which to them seems so bare and uninviting, is 
the following. I naturally tell it with a Scottish bias, 
and must disclaim all responsibility for its seeming 
irreverence. 

A poor Scot having died, so the tale goes, his soul at 
once, following the usual course, as I assume, though the 
original says differently, winged its flight upwards till it 
arrived at the portals where Peter keeps the keys. 
After knocking, the reverend janitor came to the wicket, 
and demanded the name of the soul that knocked so 
loudly. 'Sandie Macphairson,' was the reply. Peter 
with some irritation bade Sandie begone, saying 'the 
place was jist pairfeckly fu' o' Macs already, and Sandie 
maun seek ither quarters.' The observant reader will 
see that Peter spoke with a decided Scottish accent, 
which, one may take it, is reasonable presumption of the 
antiquity and respectability of the auld Scots tongue. 
Hearing this reply, down sank the soul of Sandie till it 
' fetched up ' bump on the roof of his Satanic Majesty's 
dominions, and here the summons was sharp and imperi- 
ous. Satan happened to be in a particularly bad temper, 
and with some asperity demanded who knocked so loud. 
' Sandie Macphairson,' was again the response ; where- 
upon Auld Clootie with many an oath bade the wander- 
ing soul begone, saying that he would harbour no 
Scotsman in his dominions, for the only one that had 
ever gained an entry had by his superior ability and 
cleverness nearly got up a successful revolution, intend- 
ing to depose Satan, and take the rule of the kingdom 



SCOTTISH COMPLACENCY 255 

into his own hands. 'So,' said Satan, 'I'll have no 
Scotsmen here; they know too much. Ye must try 
elsewhere.' You will observe this was said with a 
perfectly pure English accent. 

The poor bewildered soul of Sandie, finding no resting- 
ing-place, began to shudder with a sense of baffled hopes, 
and at length said to itself : ' Eh, but this is awfu'. I 
suppose I'll hae to try the half-way hoose.' And so 
again directing its flight upwards, it tried for admittance 
at the gates of Purgatory. But here, too, it met with no 
better success. It was denounced as a schismatic, and 
possessed of too much independence ; and so at length 
the naked soul was left in blank isolation, confronting 
the blackness of the universal void. An agony of 
despair swept the shuddering nonentity of the thrice- 
rejected wraith, and recognising the utter horror of the 
awful and only alternative that remained, he whispered 
in hoarse accents of icy despair : ' Gude Heevens ! is it 
possible •? I'll hae to gang back to Glesca.' 

An evident paraphrase of the foregoing, is the version 
which is current in the back-blocks of Australia. The 
leading idea is of course the same, but the treatment is 
localised, somewhat thus. The Scottish wayfarer, or 
superintendent of the station, or shepherd or swagsman, 
as the case may be, when he presents himself in the 
morning at breakfast, is at once commiserated on his 
wan and dejected appearance. He is asked if he is ill 1 
if a snake has bit him 1 if his whisky flask has run 
ouf? and so on. He responds with faltering accents, 
betokening much distress and mental disturbance, that 
the cause of his woe -begone aspect is 'a vera bad 
dream ' he has had. He relates that the dream was so 



256 SCOTTISH GOMPLAGENGY 

vivid and realistic that it has made a deep impression 
on him which he cannot shake off, and so on ; where- 
upon, according to the inventive genius of the narrator, 
come all sorts of humorous local allusions. 

' Dear, dear ! ' says one, ' what was it 1 Did ye 
dream all the sheep were dead ? ' 

The Scotsman is supposed to shake his head and say : 
' Waur than that.' 

' Bless us ! Did ye dream there was another drought?' 

'Waur than that.' 

' What ! not bush fires % ' 

'Waur than that.' 

' Not that you were bushed ? no water 1 horse dead 1 
tucker-bag empty, and no help within fifty miles 1 ' 

' Waur than that.' 

' What then, in Hivven's name, did ye dream ? ' 

'Eh, mon, I dreamed I was back again in Scotland.' 

And that is where the laugh is supposed to come in ; 
but it is all envy — pure envy, and nothing else. 



CHAPTEE XY 

RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

The introduction of steam to an indigo factory — The first sight of 
a locomotive — Instances — The old sheep-farmer's experience — 
The porter's correction — Legs versus locomotive — Circumvent- 
ing the ticket-collector — A pawky stationmaster — ' Ower big 
for his place. ' 

Of all the agencies that have been at work in this busy 
and wonderful century to break down old traditions, 
peculiar customs, and quaint institutions, none perhaps 
have been so potent and subversive as the varied applica- 
tions of the powers of steam and electricity to human 
use ; and of these the now common and everyday-used 
railway and telegraph have been the most productive of 
chansje. We are so accustomed now to the universal 
presence of these accessories to our daily life that it is 
difficult for us to imagine a state of society in which 
they were non-existent. And yet if we go back for but 
a brief half-century, we are landed in the primitive 
period, as it now appears to us, of the days of stage- 
coaches and emigrant sailing-ships. We can scarcely 
realise now what it must have been to our immediate 
ancestors to have had no railways or telegrams, no daily 

s 



258 RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

newspaper, no well - organised postal service and quick 
interchange of intelligence with the ends of the earth. 
Only fancy having to go back to the days of tallow- 
candles and oil lights, when there were not even lucifer 
matches or wax vestas ! How little we think of what a 
volume of change in daily comfort and the easedom of 
modern conditions is implied in the existence of such a 
firm as, say, 'Bryant and May,' for instance. What 
would we do now if we had to revert to the use of the 
old goose quill instead of the steel pen, the dirk or 
dagger in lieu of the knife and fork, or the cumbrous 
flint and steel instead of the humble but handy pocket 
match-box ? And yet the century has seen these and 
a thousand equally significant changes, which have 
affected and modified mental and even moral conditions, 
quite as much as they have merely physical. 

This, however, is so self-evident on the slightest 
reflection, that it is unnecessary to insist much upon it ; 
but having picked up several anecdotes bearing on the 
introduction of railways into Scotland, and as these to 
some extent exemplify the manners and customs and 
attitude of mind of many of the rustic folk of whom we 
have been speaking, they have a certain interest, and 
may not inappropriately find a niche in these random 
jottings. 

I have seen the introduction of a steam-engine for the 
first time; into the then secluded indigo-planting district 
of Chumparun, one of the beautiful corners of the great, 
fertile, populous province of Behar, in India. I shall 
never forget the afternoon when, everything being com- 
pleted, the machinery all accurately fitted and in perfect 
order, our old manager, ' Hoolman Sahib ' as the natives 



RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 259 

called him, got up steam to test the engine. From far and 
near the villagers in thousands, had come to see the start 
of this wonderful, mysterious {kuU) engine, of which 
they had heard such varied and marvellous reports. 
It was said ' to feed on fire, to vomit smoke and steam 
(bhdf), to do the work of a thousand coolies, and to 
scream louder than a whole line of elephants,' and so on. 
Well, the eventful day had at last arrived. Round about 
the indigo vats of Seeraha, the head factory, there must 
have been at least some ten or twelve thousand natives of 
every age and sex and condition of life assembled. The 
polished piston rods and glittering brasses of the engine 
shone spick-and-span in their glossy masonry and plaster- 
setting of pucca work. The furnace, fed with dried 
stalks of the refuse indigo, roared and gleamed fitfully 
as the doors were thrown open with a resounding clang 
from time to time, while the attendant sprites fed the 
fiery monster with fresh fuel. The bellowing volumes of 
smoke came rolling heavily from the tall chimney-stalk, 
and the vast assemblage of untutored natives looked on 
■\vith gathering wonder and open-mouthed astonishment 
and awe. The hissing steam began to come in angry, 
short, puffing jets from here and there a loose joint, and 
from the rim of the safety-valve ; and at length, as the 
crucial moment arrived, and the gauge showed the 
requisite pressure, Butler, our engineer, helped by some 
of the European assistants standing by, put their 
shoulders to the metal, and the massive fly-wheel began 
to revolve, the wonder and the amaze reached their 
culmination. Just then, whether unintentionally or in 
mischievous design, 'Hoolman Sahib' turned on the 
escape-valve, and the shrill steam -whistle for the first 



260 RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

time woke the echoes of the startled Chumparun air. 
We Europeans shouted a lusty shout of triumphant 
congratulation, but the effect on the unsophisticated 
natives was simply indescribable. With one ear-piercing 
shriek or yell of dismay, the pent-up breath of the con- 
gregated thousands seemed to find a simultaneous vent. 
And then commenced a wild, tumultuous, mad rush of 
frenzied fear and unreasoning dread. Women and 
children were upset and trampled on ; barriers and 
hedges were broken and trampled flat ; the poppy 
crop, most precious and sacred of growing stuffs, was 
flattened to the ground ; men threw their garments 
from them, and flew as if the destroying furies were at 
their heels ; and but for a few of the regular old 
servants of the factory, and ourselves, in a few moments 
the precincts of the place were utterly deserted by the 
panic-stricken crowd. 

Now I do not mean to say that our Scottish rustics 
were as unsophisticated and simple as these poor Behar 
peasants, and yet it must have raised strange thoughts 
and surmises in the breasts of simple ploughmen and 
shepherds in these northern straths and glens, when the 
snorting locomotive for the first time tore past their 
doors, and obtruded itself on their hitherto restricted 
and uneventful experience. 

I have given already the true experience of my 
cousin's servant Eobbie, who, seeing the train for the 
first time, wished to 'traivel ootside, so as to see the 
kintra.' 

Another old fellow, when he saw the first locomotive 
and rattling retinue of carriages go tearing past, until it 
entered a tunnel on ahead, was almost petrified with 



RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 261 

fear ; and describing the phenomenon afterwards in the 
smiddy, he said that ' a great muckle beast wi' reid een 
(red eyes) an' a bleezin', reekin' horn, cam' roarin' up 
the strath, but when it saw me,' he said, 'it gied a 
terrible scraich, an' ran intill a hole i' the hillside.' 

This may possibly be apocryphal, but I have often 
heard my father tell the following as a veritable fact, 
although I rather fancy I have already told the story in 
another book : — 

One old woman near Brig o' Dun, when the first 
passenger train went tearing through to Brechin, seeing 
the sparks flying from the engine, and the long row of 
carriages with their windows and doors, through which 
the lamp lights were gleaming, called out to her gude- 
man : ' Losh, An'ra, look here ! Michty me !' but here's 
a smith's shop run awa' wi' a raing (range) o' cottar 
hooses.' 

Another good railway story is that of the old fellow 
from the Mearns who had gone to Lanark market with 
a flock of sheep for sale. Having disposed of his charge 
to good advantage, he was strongly urged by his son, 
who had accompanied him, to take the train back, as it 
would save them two or three days' tedious journey. 
The old man had never mustered up courage or resolu- 
tion enough, to adventure on ' thae michty mischancie 
inventions o' the deevil,' as he called the railway trains. 
He looked on them as utterly subversive of the good 
old order, and imagined that perpetual accidents were 
certain to occur if he were rash enough to trust his 
precious carcase on board one of them. However, the 
younger man persisted, and as a youthful daughter was 
about to be married, and they desired to be home as 



262 RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

early as possible on that account, and also as there were 
evidences of an approaching heavy snowstorm in the air, 
the old man at length yielded to the importunities of his 
son, and with much misgiving and many fears on his part, 
they got safely seated in one of the old-fashioned third- 
class carriages, which, as some of my older readers may 
remember, were quite open at the sides, and about as 
comfortable as modern cattle-trucks. However, away 
sped the train. The snowdrift came on thick and 
furious ; the shivering passengers wrapped themselves in 
their kindly, sheltering plaids ; and occasionally a faint, 
ambrosial perfume of whisky would hover for a moment 
round the carriages. Thicker and thicker fell the snow. 
The wind had risen, and in every cutting through which 
the snorting engine plunged, lay great piled-up wreaths, 
through which it became ever more and more difficult 
for the train to push its way. At length, just as the 
train had reached the neighbourhood of the old man's 
farm, it plunged into an obstinate, unyielding drift, 
and with a scream and a sudden jolt it came to an 
abrupt stop. The shock threw the old man and his son 
clean through the open side of the carriage, and pro- 
pelled them with considerable velocity right into the 
piled-up bank of virgin snow. The old man went 
' kerslap ' right in up to his waist, and though his plaid 
protected him, and the snow was soft, yet his nostrils 
and ears were corked tightly up with the snow, and for 
a moment or two he imagined that all his forebodings 
had been realised, and that he was a dead man. How- 
ever his son, who had also escaped unhurt, after a few 
vigorous tugs at the old man's projecting legs, managed 
to extricate his imprisoned parent, who, after clearing 



RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 263 

his plugged ears and nostrils, and shaking himself like a 
water-dog, began to plod his way through the snow over 
the fields towards his dwelling, which was indeed not 
far distant. Of course he was welcomed with every 
indication of joy, and when he had got time to settle 
down, began to be plied with eager questions. The 
young bride -elect got on her father's knee, and after 
sundry caresses, began to vaunt the conveniences of 
railway travel. She pointed out the time it saved, and 
so on, and then asked her father if he did not now agree 
with her. 'Come now,' she said, 'is it not a great 
saving of time, father? Is it not quite safe and con- 
venient, to say nothing of it being cheap?' The old 
man, with a vivid recollection yet fresh in his memory 
of his involuntary plunge into the snowdrift, very 
cautiously replied : ' Weel, Jeannie, I'll no deny that 
it is somewhat expedeetious ; but, losh bless me, 
lassie, it's a michty oncannie w'y they hae o' lattin' 
ye oot.' 

Quite as whimsical in its way is the absurd mistake 
of the unsophisticated railway porter, of which you may 
have heard. The train to the north had come to a 
standstill for some minutes at a wayside station, and a 
commercial traveller, whose limbs had become numbed 
with cold and his long journey, took advantage of the 
short opportunity, and bounding out on to the platform, 
began to pace briskly up and down to try and restore 
warmth to his half-frozen extremities. Passing a stolid- 
looking porter in his walk, he crisply remarked : ' Ah, 
this is invigorating.' You may imagine his amused 
surprise, when the old fellow hobbled after him and 
exclaimed: 'Na, na, sir; this is Invergordon.' 



264 RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

That reminds me of another railway -station story, 
which forcibly illustrates the dour doggedness and 
never-say-die tenacity of purpose, which is very charac- 
teristic of certain sorts of ' oor ain fowk.' 

It was a piping hot day. The ripened barley ' hung 
its head,' drooping under the sultry, direct rays of the 
burning autumn sun. The whins bordering the road 
were brown with dust, and not a breath of air was to 
be found to stir the motionless leaves on the russet 
birken-shaws. A florid, perspiring farm -servant came 
plunging along the road leading to the station, hurrying 
as fast as he could to catch the afternoon train for 
Aberdeen, which if he missed, he would have to wait 
for nearly a whole day before he could get another. 
He had taken off his coat, and it hung on his hazel staff 
over his shoulder ; his calfskin waistcoat was unbut- 
toned, and he carried his hat swinging in his hand. He 
was hot, dusty, tired, and ill-tempered. He knew he 
had barely enough time, but he hoped just to catch the 
train. Just as he came in view of the station, the long 
train hove in sight, the burnished engine slowed down, 
and the pedestrian redoubled his efforts and made a 
frantic rush, with his clothes flapping about like the 
duds on a tautie-dooly. Will he reach it in time 1 Will 
the dashed thing wait ? Will the stationmaster not see 
him ? The bell clangs loudly ; the stoor flies from his 
plunging tread. He tries to shout, but his throat is dry 
with dust and drouth, and he can only make a choking, 
smothered yell. Alas ! alas ! just as he reaches the 
wicket-gate, the engine, as if in derision, gives a snort, 
and a hoarse, whistling shriek, and the train with an 
elusive speed glides quickly out of reach. Choking with 



RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 265 

rage at what he chose to fancy was a deliberate mockery, 
he shook his fist at the retreating train, and apostrophis- 
ing the engine, shouted, as his Scottish dour determina- 
tion asserted itself : ' Oh ! blaw, ye black deevil ! I can 
walk ! ' 

Then there is that most pawky instance, also in con- 
nection with railway travel, which, I think, first saw the 
light in the inimitable picture-gallery of Punch, but which 
I cannot refrain from reproducing. Scene — Railway 
carriage. Ticket-collector: 'Tickets, please.' All show 
their pasteboard except one stolid, stupid-looking being, 
muffled in a plaid, and with his broad bonnet well 
drawn over his ears. He fumbles in all his pockets ; 
mutters, ' I'm sure I had it jist the noo ' ; and then asks 
the impatient official to go on, and by the time he came 
back he would no doubt have found the missing ticket. 
The collector bangs the door before any one can speak, 
and as he whisks angrily away, the gentleman sitting 
opposite our plaided drover says, with a good-humoured 
sort of surprised air : ' Why, sir, you have your ticket in 
your mouth. I saw you put it there when the train 
pulled up.' With a wink of fearfully portentous mean- 
ing the weather-beaten old sinner answers : ' Wheesht, 
man, I wis jist sookin' afF the date.' This experience, of 
course, relates to a much later and more sophisticated 
period than that of which I have been treating. 

The next too, is modern, but is a cajiital instance of 
dry, pawky, ironic humour. 

During a strike a few years ago (there were fewer 
strikes in the old days) among the officials of the North 
British Railway, much difficulty was experienced in finding 
well-qualified engine-drivers to maintain the necessary 



266 RAILWAYS AND MODERN PROGRESS 

train-service. Upon one occasion a young fellow happened 
to be put upon a section of the line in Fife. One day 
he ran some distance past a certain station, and upon 
reversing the engine to put back, he went just as far the 
other way. The stationmaster seeing him preparing 
for another attempt, to the great amusement of the 
passengers on the platform, shouted : ' Jist bide whaur 
ye are, Tammas; we'll shift the station.' 

And here is yet another instance of the same kind of 
caustic, hard-hitting humour. 

An auld wifie from St. Cyrus, a bright little fishing- 
village on the Mearns coast, found herself not very long 
ago for the first time at a railway station. Naturally, 
her wonder and her insatiable curiosity were excited 
by the unwonted surroundings. Being what is called 
in that locality 'a cracky bodie,' she began to ply 
the ticket-clerk at the office window with all sorts of 
quaint and eager queries. He being a bumptious, 
supercilious, young fellow, answered her rather 
brusquely, and snappishly told her to 'Ask the porter.' 
The harmless but inquisitive old bodie in reply to several 
quite innocent questions, very natural in one undergoing 
such a novel experience, received the same reply in an 
even more impertinent and ill-natured manner, and her 
dogged Scottish pugnacity began to be aroused. She 
came of a class not easily daunted, and with the spirit 
of ' The Mearns ' firing her honest self-respect, she was 
evidently not inclined to accept a snub from any one, 
least of all from one whom she rightly judged was put 
there, and paid to be civil, and to afford every reason- 
able information to the customers of the Company. A 
considerable crowd, much amused at the old wifie's 



BAIL WAYS AND MODERN PEOGEESS 267 

manner and questions, had in the meantime gathered 
around, and the old woman, now fairly on her mettle, 
said to the uppish, supercilious official : — 

* Ay, ma man, div ye ken fa ye mind me o"?' 

* No, I do not,' snapped the bilious clerk. 

'Weel, than, ye jist mind me o' the mannie that 
cam' tae sweip ma grannie's lum, an' stack i' the middle 
o't. He wis ower big for the place he wis in.' 
Amid roars of laughter from the crowd, the discomfited 
clerk banged down the window, as the train swept in, 
leaving the old wifie fairly victor in the encounter of 
wits. 



CHAPTER XVI 



NAITERALS 



Modern methods in treatment of the insane — Danger of overdoing 
even philanthropy — The old-time village life — 'Finla' of the 
Gun' — Too literal an answer to prayer — 'Jock Brodie' — 
' Singin' Willie ' — ' Jock Heral' ' — ' Gude, gude wirds ' — Stories 
of 'The Laird' — 'Johnnie Maisterton' — A queer old parish 
minister and some stories about him — A cautious Scot — A 
tight place for Abraham — Eustic simplicity. 

One other feature of the old village life which seems 
almost entirely to have passed away, is the constant 
recurrence in all the small rural communities of what 
were known as ' Naiterals ' : poor, half-witted unfor- 
tunates, harmless enough for the most part, often keen- 
witted enough in some respects, but in some one 
particular, incurably silly and deficient. As a rule they 
were treated with the utmost kindness and allowed 
every latitude ; and it said much for the kindly, humane 
spirit of the old Scottish folks in regard to this saddest 
of all afflictions — mental weakness — that this was the 
prevalent feeling towards these poor beclouded ones. 

So far as regards the treatment of the hopelessly 
insane and imbecile, our modern systems are no doubt 



NAITEEALS 269 

like perfect Paradise, compared with the very Gehenna 
of barbarity and rigorous repression which characterised 
the asylums of the past cruel rdgime ; but it is at least 
open to question whether in our more enlightened and 
better organised, and certainly much more expensive 
and luxurious philanthropy, we may not be just 
overdoing things to some extent. I suppose it is scien- 
tifically possible to have too much even of a good thing. 
And it sometimes seems to me that in some things, in 
education for instance, in the treatment of disease, in 
the management of the insane, in the regulation of 
criminals, and in other branches of sociology, we may 
not be in danger of making the system too complex and 
too expensive, so that the machinery may be in danger 
of breaking down altogether some day, by reason of its 
very complexity and enormous cost. Signs, indeed, are 
not wanting that the corporate common-sense of the 
people is at last beginning to kick against the faddists 
and extremists among our so-called experts, whose 
expertness in piling up expenditure is very often in 
converse ratio to the practical results achieved in dimin- 
ishing the evils they attack. 

The excision of useless accomplishments and mere 
ornamental frippery from the curriculum of common 
schools in some of the Colonies, and the substitution of 
plain, sound instruction in the primary principles of 
technical education is an evidence of this. The breaking 
up of the barrack system in the training of waifs, or so- 
called State children, and placing them out in the homes 
of kind people, is another blessed evidence of a return to 
saner and, I am sure, more successful, ay ! and cheaper 
methods ; and I do not see why in these days of over- 



270 NAITERAL8 

taxation and grandmotherly government, the vital 
question of economy should not be more studied than it 
is. Certain politicians seem to think that the chief end 
and aim of legislation is to raise taxes and spend money 
lavishly. The highest statesmanship, surely, is that 
which follows the lines of best domestic and commercial 
management, namely, to secure the widest freedom at 
the least expense, and with the largest result in 
happiness, liberty, and progress. 

In this light one might well ask why criminals, for 
instance, should not be employed, where practicable, on 
necessary public works, and be forced to earn their own 
keep; but the bare mention of such an apparently sensible 
proposal, is enough to send certain self-dubbed ' workiDg- 
men representatives,' and demagogues of the rabid Pro- 
tectionist order, such as we have in some of our colonies, 
into such a condition of froth and fury as might well 
cause apprehension on the part of onlookers, as to whether 
these apostles of modern blatherskite can bite as well as 
bark, in which case they might of course be dangerous. 

The very mention of this genus brings me naturally and 
easily to the subject of this chapter, 'Naiterals,' or the 
poor, half-witted characters that were formerly a constant 
feature in our village communities. Even in the 
treatment of these poor unfortunates, we are in some 
measure revolting against this excessive centralisation 
which characterises the insane - asylum movement of 
modern times ; and many of the very highest and best 
minds both among experts and laymen are, I under- 
stand, beginning to question whether it is the best and 
most humane thing after all, to immure such unfor- 
tunates as are not of the violent type of insane 



NAITERALS 271 

patients, and whether it would not be better to revert 
to the old-fashioned system, in which the burden of 
maintenance of such afflicted ones rightly devolved 
on the kinsmen themselves, and not on the general 
community. In this as in other respects our so-called 
Christian Socialism has simply been Communism run mad. 
The true Christian Socialism, I take it, is that which, 
while giving its proper value to the injunction to ' bear 
one another's burdens,' never forgets that it is still more 
strongly insisted on, that ' each shall bear his own 
burden.' Philanthropy by proxy is just as barren and 
unfruitful, unless in evil results, as religion by proxy. 
The very kernel of the sturdy, robust, old-time Scottish 
Protestantism was the invaluable recognition of this one 
vital fact : that a man must stand or fall by his own 
conscience, and he could not hand over the keeping of 
his conscience, or the performance of his duty, or the 
observance of his religion, to any vicarious agency 
whatsoever, be he priest or presbyter, county council- 
man or government inspector. 

Many of these old-time village ' naiterals ' were quite 
competent to perform many little domestic tasks ; some 
could even assist in field work ; and, as a rule, all could 
do a little to assist their relations in the duty of their 
own maintenance. It seems, then, a pity that sach harm- 
less unfortunates should be dragged away from their own 
kinsfolk, and saddled as a permanent burden on the State. 
That is what is very largely done in the Colonies at all 
events ; and the records of our State Charity Departments 
there show in too many cases, a callous disregard of some 
of the most sacred obligations of kinship on the part of 
wealthy and well-to-do citizens, who unblushingly allow 



272 NAITEEALS 

even such near relations as parents, to be quartered in 
State asylums and benevolent institutions, and never 
contribute, except under strong compulsion, one fraction 
towards the cost of their keep. 

But to our examples. I promise they shall be but 
few. Many tales are told of a famous ' pairish eediot ' 
of Eoss-shire who, from his constant habit of carrying a 
battered old fowling-piece, tied and spliced with wire and 
twine and leather thongs, and who fancied himself no 
mean sportsman, was known far and near as ' Finla' o' 
the Gun.' He was a strange, forbidding sort of being, 
and one of his most pronounced crazes was a mania for 
collecting all sorts of unsavoury objects, such as dead 
crows, and other carrion. These he was wont to show 
as trophies of his gun, witnesses to his ability as a 
marksman. He chiefly lived by collecting, for sale to 
marine dealers, bones, rags, tufts of wool, scrap-iron, and 
such-like 'unconsidered trifles,'and his miscellaneous 'pock 
full,' as may well be imagined, had not just the fragrance 
of violets. One day some one had told 'Finla' o' the 
Gun ' of a dead horse among the heather, and away the 
poor creature trudged to secure a ghastly treasure-trove 
of bones. He got up to the carcase, over whose grisly 
remains a mob of hungry dogs were growling and 
quarrelling. ' Finla' ' drove them off*, and began to hack 
the bones asunder and transfer them to his pack. The 
dogs assuijaed a menacing attitude, but ' Finla' ' addressed 
them in tones of indignant protest, asking them to ' agree 
thegither, as there was eneuch an' to spare for them a'.' 

It was his custom to demand a lodgment wherever 
he might chance to be at nightfall, but most of all he 
affected the hospitality of the various manses in the 



NAITERALS 273 

shire. No one ever thought of refusing him shelter, 
having pity for his infirmity, but he was not certainly a 
desirable guest at any time. Shortly after the Disruption, 
he happened to arrive for the night at the manse of, let us 
say, Birkhill. The old minister had vacated his charge, 
being one of the gallant band of Disruption heroes, and 
a new incumbent all the way from America, had taken 
up the duties of parish minister, in a newly raised quoad 
sacra church. The former minister, Mr. Fraser, had 
been a kindly, homely man, much beloved by his people, 
and he had always given a pleasant word to poor, simple- 
witted 'Finla' o' the Gun.' The poor, doited creature had 
come in, as was his wont, unbidden to the manse, and 
had dumped down his unsavoury pack of bones and rags, 
which very soon attested its presence by the aroma which 
it diffused around. Out came the new minister fuming 
and puffing, and angrily addressing the poor daft creature 
ordered him to ' take up his stinking bones and begone 
out of that.' Old ' Finla' ' moved never a muscle, but 
said very quietly : ' Ay, man, but I thocht ye maun hae 
a gude smell, when ye smelt the stipend o' Birkhill a' 
the way frae America.' 

To my friend, the Eev. James H , of whose racy 

store I have already given some specimens, I am indebted 
for the following. 

' Did you ever hear ' he writes, ' of the parish idiot 
who was in the habit frequently of retiring to pray 
behind a worn, old sod-dyke ? One day when engaged 
in his usual devotional exercise, uttering the words : 
" that if this sod wa' wis tae fa' doon upon him, it wad be 
nae mair than he deserved for his wicked deeds," some 
village wag of a fellow who had crept up to hear puir, 

T 



274 NAITERALS 

daft Jock at his prayers, pushed over a portion of the 
dyke on the top of the silly loon, whereupon the startled 
idiot exclaimed : " Save's a', sirss, it's an awfu' warl' we 
live in ! A bodie canna say a thing in fun like, but it's 
ta'en in earnest." ' 

Jock Brodie was another of these quaint characters, 
well known in Dumfries. One night he was caught red- 
handed in the act of stealing the minister's hens. The 
minister said to him : ' John, I did not expect to find you 
here, John ! ' Jock replied : ' Dod, I didna expec' tae see 
you here aither, sir.' 

I remember, as a boy, another of these harmless 
imbeciles called ' Singin' Willie.' He used to frequent 
the fairs in Angus and the Mearns, and his craze took 
the form of decorating his clothes, and a stick he carried, 
with all sorts of shining buttons he could collect, and 
with scraps of gaudy ribbons. He tootled on his stick 
believing it to be a musical instrument, and croodled a 
peculiar sing-song chant all the while. He was apt to 
get angry if laughed at, or if any one sought to dispute 
his harmless idea that the stick was a band instrument. 
Otherwise he was perfectly harmless, and not a little 
picturesque indeed. 

A certain John Herald, or, as he was locally called, 
'Jock Heral',' was another of these queer characters 
whom I remember in my youthful days. His special 
haunt was the side of the road leading to the famous 
Brechin picnic resort, the old Druidical circle on the 
summit of Caterthun — a beautiful rounded hill, crowned 
now with a belt of young fir-trees, but in the dim ages 
long ago, with a weird circle of Druid stones ; and which 
forms one of the first tier of swelling hills which are the 



NAITERALB 275 

outliers of the mighty Grampians where they post their 
sentinels on the verge of fertile Strathmore. Jock was 
always seemingly in a hurry ; that is, if he thought he 
was the object of your observation he would affect to be 
very busy. His favourite expression then used to be as 
he met you or overtook you : ' Aweel, aweel, here I am, 
puir Jock Heral', jist takkin' lang staps tae save ma 
shune ' (shoes). His next advance would be, in seeming 
hearty fashion, to proffer you the refreshment of a 
sneeshin' from his snuff-mull. It must be understood 
that you were really all the time the object of a series of 
calculated crafty advances, guised under an aspect of the 
utmost simplicity and purely fortuitous haphazard. It 
was expected of you that in return for the sneeshin', you 
were to leave a gratuity in the snuff-box. Jock would 
not openly ask for it ; ' work he could not, and to beg he 
was ashamed'; but his comments on the visitors according 
to their liberality were ofttimes amusing enough. Thus 
if one accepted the sneeshin' but put nothing into the 
box, he would say with a snort of contempt : ' Humph ! 
some naisty, weary wratches gaed up the hill the day ; 
they took a sneeshin' oot'n ma mull, bit pit naethin' in. 
Na, 'deed no. Fa wir they, ken ye ^ ' Suppose you put 
in a threepenny bit, he would say : ' A gey gude sort o' 
man yon 'at gaed by the day, na ; div ye ken far he comes 
f ae *? ' He was always anxious to know all about the 
visitors, where they came from and so on. But suppose 
you gave the munificent sum of a sixpence, or the regal 
largess of a shilling, then poor Jock would wax quite 
eloquent in your praises, thus : ' Ay, ay, na ; thon 
wis twa fine, bonnie, wyselike gentlemen gaed up the 
hill the day. Ah'm thinkin' they wad be fae the 



276 NAITERALS 

nobeelity, na. Eh na, fa wir they, div ye ken?' and 
so on. 

One of this poor afflicted fraternity at Kelso, on one 
occasion confided to a kindly sympathiser that 'his 
mither had said gude, gude wirds till him afore she de'ed.' 
' Ay, Jock, an' what did yer mither say tae ye 1 ' asked 
the kindly tolerant friend. 'Ah, she said gude, gude 
wirds.' 'Weel, what wir they?' 'Oh, she said, jist 
afore she de'ed : "Weel, God help ye, Jock, for yir a puir 
silly eediet."' 

It seems to me there is a world of pathos in this 
simply silly reminiscence of poor daft Jock. God help 
the poor things ! What an awful responsibility rests on 
those who have the care of such helpless and afflicted 
brothers ; and what an awful reckoning will be 
demanded from those who have proved recreant to their 
trust ! 

Another quaint character I remember, who was a 
famous fisherman up the Glen, and taught me first how 
to cast a fly. He was of good family, and though he 
could not be classed with the naiterals, yet was he fatally 
weak in the matter of self-control where drink was in 
question. He was always called 'The Laird.' There 
was another oddity whom we called 'Daddy.' Daddy 
in his cups was a perfect fiend, and exhibited the ugliest 
traits. ' The Laird,' on the other hand, even if overtaken 
in liquor, seemed never to forget that he was a gentleman, 
and was always gentle and good-tempered. He spoke 
with a peculiar burr, and was an inveterate snufF-taker. 
On one occasion he told my father, who had been 
reasoning and expostulating with him after a recent 
outburst : ' Weel, Maister Eobert, I was never sae drunk 



NAITEEALS 277 

yet, but aye when I passed the schulie I gaed tae the 
back o' the hoose tae pray for the bits o' bairns.' 

In one of his fits of depression he determined to drown 
himself in the burn. He confided this fell resolve to 
another half-doited, feckless creature who was with him, 
but with ludicrous sangfroid he diverted 'The Laird' from 
his dread resolve by saying : ' Hoots, Laird, it'll be better 
tae wait till a warmer nicht.' 

On one occasion he had fallen and hurt his leg, and 
my uncle poured out some spirits in a cup as an embroca- 
tion for the bruised knee, but ere he could interpose, ' The 
Laird ' had gulped the intended liniment down, with the 
pithy remark : 'Hech, we'll jist lat it sipe doon tae the sair.' 

AVhen his mother died he was much affected. My 
grandmother sympathised most affectionately with him, 
and at the sight of his artless and sincere grief could not 
restrain her own tears. 'The Laird' suddenly looked 
up and with innocent surprise said : ' Hech, ye needna 
greet; she wis nae freens tae you' — signifying that 
tears were only permissible for a blood relation. 

My dear old aunt tells me of one such character as 
we have been considering, who, though not a ' naiteral,' 
was looked on in Montrose as being 'some saft.' He 
went by the name of Johnnie Maisterton. A most 
amusing conversation is recorded as having passed 
between Johnnie and the reverend old incumbent of 
the Montrose High Church, Dr. Patterson. Johnnie's 
errand to the manse seems to have been to engage the 
services of the reverend doctor to marry him. Having 
asked for the doctor, and being ushered into the study, 
he awkwardly fumbled about and rather shamefacedly 
said : — 



278 NAITERALB 

'A fine day, Maister Paitterson.' 

' Yes, it's a fine day, John.' 

Then there was an awkward pause, and again John 
rallied, and repeated his phrase — 

' It's a fine day, Maister Paitterson.' 

'Yes, John, but you wanted to see me.' 

'Ay,' boggled John, 'but it's a fine day, Maister 
Paitterson.' 

' Oh yes, there's no doubt of that,' a little impatiently 
assented the minister. ' But what is it you really want, 
John % You surely did not take all this trouble to come 
and tell me it's a fine day 1 ' 

John thus fairly cornered, at last blurted out : — 

'Weel, ah'm sair needin' tae be mairriet, Maister 
Paitterson.' 

' Oh, I see ! Well, John, what's the woman's name 1 ' 

At this John bridled up and said : ' Dod, Maister 
Paitterson, ye wad like tae ken a' thing.' 

' Ah but, John, I must know that. Ye ken I canna 
marry ye unless I know.' 

'Dod than, sir, an' ye wull hae'd, an' gin ye maun 
hae'd, it's jist Delia Carr, sir.' 

' Well, John, when will I come ? ' 

'Oh, ony time ye like, Maister Paitterson,' said 
John, with a breezy indifference to precise punctuality. 

'Ah, but you must tell me the hour now, John.' 

John at once pulled out his silver turnip, and con- 
sulting the dial said : ' Od, it's jist close upon twal, 
sir.' 

' No, no, John. I mean you must fix the hour when 
I am to come to marry j^ou.' 

So at last the date and hour were arranged, and John 



NAITEEALS 279 

was preparing to take his leave, when he asked : ' But 
div ye ken far ye're tae come till, Maister Paitterson '? ' 

' No, John, indeed I do not,' said the minister. 

' Aweel, ye hiv tae come doon to (naming a close), then 
ye ging farrer doon till ye come till an ootside stane- 
stair wi' twal staps. Ye ging up that, an' syne turn 
tae yer thoom haund.' 

Then, apparently quite forgetful of the minister's 
sacred calling, he said rather wheedlingly : — 

' Noo, Maister Paitterson, ye'll come awa' up wi' me 
tae Rob Process's an' get share o' a mutchkin.' 

' Oh, no, John,' said the horrified doctor, ' I never 
drink out of my own house.' 

'Dod, Maister Paitterson,' said John, very coaxingly, 
' ye micht come ; my brither Davie's there, an' he's a 
fine boxer.' 

But not even this added inducement could overcome 
the worthy doctor's scruples, and poor, soft, blundering, 
queer-grained John had to depart alone. 

From the same charming, old-time, gossipy source, I 
gathered some items about a very eccentric parish mini- 
ster near Montrose, who lived away back in the earlier 
part of the century, and whose oddity was so pronounced, 
as to make him a fit subject for inclusion in the present 
chapter. He had an extraordinary dread of wild 
animals, and one of the invariable petitions in his litany 
was, that they 'micht be presairved frae whurl win's, whurl- 
pools, airthquakks, an' the devoorin' jaws o' wild beests.' 
Meeting the celebrated Indian missionary Dr. Duff one 
day at a Presbytery dinner, he asked during a pause 
in the conversation : ' Did ye ever see ony leeyons (lions), 
doctor?' And this being replied to satisfactorily, he 



280 NAITERALS 

later on took advantage of another pause to again ask, 
much to the amusement of his clerical brethren : ' Did 
ye see ony teegurs, doctor ? ' 

At the Disruption time he was one of those who were 
' almost persuaded' to give up everything 'for conscience' 
sake,' and come boldly out, 'not knowing whither 
he went,' from the same lofty motive ; but at the last 
moment his heart failed him. He had a nice manse and 
good garden, and in this, it would seem, he had planted 
a crop of potatoes which were giving promise of an 
abundant return. So the poor man ultimately with- 
drew from his protesting brethren, with the plaintive 
plea that ' he couldna leave his tawties.' 

Dear old Mr. Munro of Menmuir, one of my father's 
stanchest friends, who is still the honoured and useful 
minister of an attached congregation, among whom he 
has ministered faithfully and fruitfully for more than 
half a century, told me, when I called at his cosy 
little manse the other day, an incident relative to this 
same eccentric bodie of whom I am speaking. ' It illus- 
trates,' said Mr, Munro, 'the extraordinary narrow limited 
ideas of the old "Moderate" era.' The rustic parson I 
have been describing had been chosen to preach to Mr. 
Nixon's wealthy Montrose congregation in aid of some 
particular cause, for which special appeals were being 
made in all the churches. Our poor, simple, 'bit mannie' 
wound up ' a gey dreich sermon ' by saying : ' Now I do 
hope that a special effort will be made on this occaashun, 
and those of you who are wealthy, instead of giein' a 
ha'penny, can shurely gie a 23enny the day.' 

But there is no end to the stories about Montrose odd 
characters. One good example of caution is that told 



NAITERALS 281 

of a man in the gallery of the Court, who, when the 
officer called out the name of a witness who was wanted, 
shouted out, ' He's gane.' ' Gone ? ' said the presiding 
magistrate ; ' where has he gone to "? It is his duty to 
be here.' To which came the delightfully Scottish 
reply : ' Weel, yer Honner, I'll no commit masel' sae far 
as tae say whaur he's gane ; but he's deid, sir.' 

It was of an old wifie, near Montrose, that the 
following is narrated. She had been hearing her 
grandchild read her Bible lesson, and the little one had 
pronounced the word age, hard g without the terminal 
e. Thus: 'And Awbraham died in a good old egg.' 
' Na, na,' said the old dame, ' ye're surely wrang,. 
'umman.' Then getting on her specs, she read the 
passage and said : ' Hech, lassie, but ye're richt ; but, 
losh bless me, he maun hae been sair crammed.' 

From the same quarter we are told of the rustic 
damsel who had been to a concert, the success of which 
was the talk of the village next day. One of the girls 
who had not been present said to the one who had : 
'Did ony o' the singers get an ingcore?' The other 
replied smartly : ' Hoo div I ken fat they got •? They 
wir a' ta'en intill a roomie bv theirsel's.' 



CHAPTEE XVII 

STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

The Celtic temperament — Difficulties of the English tongue to the 
Gael — Examples of Gaelic-English — 'News from Tulloch' — 
An Australian illustration — Two Highland hotel anecdotes — 
The Skye barometer — Old John M'Leod and the Oban porter 
— Distinguished company — The first recorded eviction — A 
mal de mer experience — A Highland grace, from Blackwood — 
Curious marriage customs. 

In my peregrinations through many lands it has often 
been my good fortune to come much in friendly contact 
with our Highland cousins, the true Celt or Gael. Mul- 
titudes of good racy stories could be told of their 
distinctive racial characteristics : of their quick, fiery 
temper ; their intense clannishness ; their fierce, unfor- 
giving hatreds; their sly, pawky cunning, and quick, 
versatile wit — much akin this in some respects to the 
Lowland Scot ; of their proud intolerance of outside 
dictation or interference ; of their most paradoxical 
niggardliness and meanness over trifles, and their lavish 
and unbounded recognition of the generous grace of 
hospitality ; their high-minded honour where their word 
or the repute of chief or kinsman is concerned ; their 
suspicion and distrust of strangers, and open-hearted 



STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 283 

response to true friendship and generous emotion ; their 
quick, warm, impulsive emotionalism, exhibited in their 
songs, their literature, their loyalty, and the fervour of 
their religious faith; but my taste has been more to 
present my scraps and notes on Scottish rather than on 
Highland humour and customs, and the scope of my 
unpretentious omnium gatherum, scarcely permits me to 
enter into abstruse ethnical questions. Before I close 
my somewhat random and disjointed gossip, however, 
perhaps some of my Highland gleanings may be found 
not altogether uninteresting, as they make no pretence 
to being anything more than chatty and familiar. 

Many of the more common stories of the Lowland 
Scotsman about the Highlandman, turn on the quaint 
mistakes so often made by the Gaelic -speaking Celt, 
when first he attempts to express himself in the less 
mellifluous if more comprehensive Anglo-Saxon tongue. 

For instance, I am assured that the following was 
overheard in Fraserburgh. Two hard-featured Celts 
' over' from the West Highlands with fish for sale, are 
having a colloquy. Says the one : — 

' Shon, hiv ye a spunk?' (Anglice, a match.) 

'No.' 

' Aweel, she'll haf to use her nain.' 

Another of the same sort is as follows : — 

Scene — Top of Loch Maree coach. Vehicle is ap- 
proaching Tarradale. Tourist (to driver) — 'Splendid 
country this.' Driver — ' Ay, ay ! and you'll haf peen 
here pefore 1 ' Tourist — ' Oh yes ; several times.' 
Driver — ' Ay, ay ! there's nopody eff'er comes here at 
aal, tat hasna peen here sometime pefore already.' 

The next is an instance of what sailors call ' made- 



284 STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

up yarns/ but it illustrates the sort of Gaelic -English 
often heard in the Highlands. It has been before in 
print. Two Highlanders were standing on Tarbert pier 
watching the boats setting out for the fishing-ground, 
when Hamish remarked : ' She'll pe a gran' fast poat, 
tat skiff o' MacTavish's.' ' Ay, she'll pe so/ answered 
Dugald. ' Put she'll not peat Shon Maclntyre's what- 
efer.' ' Shon Maclntyre's ! ' contemptuously answered 
the other. ' She'll no baud a can'le to her, nor keep up 
to her forbye.' A heated discussion ensued on the 
respective merits of the two boats, and words might 
fast have come to blows, when a third son of the heather 
arrived on the scene, and the matter was referred to him 
for decision. ' Weel,' said Donald, with a look of wis- 
dom that would have done credit to Solomon himself, 
' if there'll pe ony difference, they're poth the same ' ; 
then, after a profound pause, he added, ' especially Mac- 
Tavish's.' 

This, though evidently bearing traces of southern 
manufacture, as I have said many do, is not an uncom- 
mon experience to any one who intelligently observes 
the workings of the untutored Celtic mind. 

The ordinary Highlander or Celt of the lower social 
strata, as distinguished from the Lowland Scot, has the 
same whimsical, illogical propensity to make a blunder- 
ing bull as his Irish cousin has. The Lowland humour 
is of a broader, mellower, more pawky, sly kind. The 
Highlander blurts out on impulse the first thought that 
flits across his brain, and not unfrequently involves 
himself in a paradox, or logical absurdity. For instance, 
here is another much similar to the foregoing, but un- 
deniably genuine. 



STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 285 

' What news from TuUoch 1 ' queries one gillie of 
another whom he meets on the heather. 

' Och, man, they buried old Sandie Macrae yester- 
day.' 

'Did they? Py Cot ! Well, well, I have seen the 
day when it wad hae ta'en twenty men to bury him ; 
ay, and more too, mirover.' 

Much akin to this was the remark of the West Coast 
fisherman who, on hearing the news of the death of 
some well-known acquaintance, said, with a solemn 
shake of the head : ' Ay, ay, an' so Kenneth Mac- 
intyre is dead 1 Cot pless me, but there's a lot of folk 
deein' shust noo that didn't use to tie pefore.' 

I knew an old Highland squatter in Australia, whose 
dry, caustic wit caused many a hearty laugh at the dis- 
comfiture of those on whom it fell. A rather pompous 
globe-trotter, discussing the merits of Australia as a 
place of residence, in one of the clubs in Sydney, hap- 
pened to say, in a very condescending, patronising sort 
of way, in the hearing of my old friend : ' Ya'as, 
Australia would be vewy nice to live in if you only 
had bettah society and plenty of watah.' ' Ay, 

man,' dryly responded old H y, ' if ye only had 

that, I daursay ye micht manage to live wi' Auld 
Nick' 

The following is supposed to have been overheard in 
a Highland hotel : — 

Tonal. Can you tell me what is petter nor a gless of 
whusky an' watter ? 

Tougal, Hooch, ay ; I can that. Shust twa glesses. 

And this is another of the same. 

' What'll ye hae, Mr. MacTavish 1 ' 



286 STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

' Och, shust whateffer is gaun, sir. Your wull iss 
ma pleesure. I could mebbe tak' a pottle of porter 
till ta whusky's procht pen ta hoose ; 'deed ay, mir- 
over.' 

Here is one from far-off Skye, where now dwell some 
of my dear old chums of the long-distant, indigo-planting 
days ; and with whom I am glad to think time and 
fortune have dealt kindly. Long may it be so. Some 
visitors to the wild and rugged isle, had been sorely 
disappointed with the weather. For a whole week the 
landscape had been enveloped in a dense mist, and their 
patience had almost become exhausted, waiting for a 
break in the leaden sky. The landlord took the matter 
with much more composure. The circling mists meant 
for him simply a richer harvest from the Southrons. 
The weather-bound tourists had noticed that the inn 
barometer had never varied by one hair's -breadth, 
although there had been incessant variations in the 
weather ; so in an idle hour, having nothing else to do, 
they began to quiz the landlord about his weather-glass. 
One said : ' Surely that is a very queer barometer of 
yours, landlord *? ' ' Och,' said the imperturbable Boni- 
face, ' she'll pe a fery fine parometer, whatefer. She'll 
no be movin' for a truffle (trifle), mirover.' 

An old friend of mine, John M'Leod of Sydney, 
known to a wide circle of admiring Scotsmen as ' The 
Chief,' now, alas ! gone to his rest after sore suff'ering, 
told me a capital characteristic story of the apparent 
innocence, yet deep, pawky guile, of the ' Hielantman,' 
which amused me much, as the dear old 'Chief told 
it in his dry, kindly. Highland way. 

Old John, after amassing a handsome competence in 



STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 287 

the land of the Southern Cross, had taken a run home 
to see the splendour of the Northern Lights and the 
glory of the crimson heather once again, before his 
sturdy limbs grew too old for travel, and one fine day 
he found himself at Oban, talking in Gaelic with a 
weather-beaten old veteran named MacTavish, who fol- 
lowed the humble vocation of a street porter. The old 
Chief had quite won the heart of MacTavish by his use 
of the Gaelic, but the conquest was rendered still more 
complete by the offer of a gill and a sneeshin', both of 
which had been duly accepted and enjoyed. 

Wishing to study the character of the rugged old 
Celt, John drew him out in conversation on a number 
of topics, and at last said : — 

' Ye'U be kept pretty busy wi' the Sassenachs % ' 

' Ou ay.' 

' Do you find them good customers, now ^ ' 

' Weel, they're vera close fistit, and vera curious too, 
sometimes, mirover.' 

Then as a rather pronounced specimen of the genus 
tourist approached, dressed in loud check tweeds, ;pince- 
nez aggressively fixed on an accommodating snub nose, 
and redolent altogether of supercilious bumptiousness, 
MacTavish said : — 

'Here's wan comin' up noo, an' you'll see hoo I'll 
hold ma own wi' this wan.' 

Up sauntered the unconscious object of the Celtic 
scrutiny, and addressed the porter. 

'Haw — porta w, does The Chevalier come in to her 
time 1 ' looking at his watch as he spoke. 

With a pawky look towards M'Leod, MacTavish 
replied : — 



288 STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

'Weel, sir, sometimes she'll pe sooner, and some- 
times she'll pe earlier, and sometimes she'll pe before 
that too.' 

Then turning round to M'Leod, he said in Gaelic : — 
' Tidn't I gif him his answer that time ? ' 
The love of poetry and song, which is such a pro- 
nounced characteristic of the Gael, is well shown by 
the high regard in which, from the earliest times of 
even misty tradition, the vocation of the bard and 
the musician has been held. Celtic literature of course 
abounds with instances of this ; but among the common 
folk the same feeling is exhibited in the esteem with 
which the person and functions of the piper is 
invested. 

One illustration may suffice. It was at a lowly High- 
land inn, in the days before Cook had revolutionised 
the art of touring. A rather uncommon party had 
penetrated into the somewhat remote district, and they 
had put up at the inn, and being of a frugal kind, 
they had grumbled somewhat at the pawky landlord's 
charges. The party consisted of an English rector and 
his four sons. All of these were clerics. The sons 
were full-blown curates, and all had a rather too openly 
pronounced contempt for the genus Gael, while they 
were not slack in exhibiting that characteristic which 
is supposed to be peculiarly Scottish, namely, 'having 
a gude conceit o' themselves.' The sturdy innkeeper 
did not seem, however, to be much awed by the quality 
and pretensions of his customers. When settling the 
score the bumptious old rector, after grumbling at the 
charges and the fare and the accommodation, said very 
loftily :— 



STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 289 

'Ah, I suppose you are not accustomed to having 
such guests as myself and my four sons ? Let me tell 
you, sir, that we are all clergymen of the Church of 
England.' 

' Hech,' said Donal' very dryly, ' I dinna ken, sir, but 
I've maybe had mair distinguished company than yersel', 
sir. Last week we had nae less than Neil Mackay an' 
his fower sons, sir. Braw stalwart lads, sir; ay, an' 
ilka ane o' them was a piper.' 

The mention of pipers reminds me of an anecdote 
I once heard of an old retired regimental piper in a 
northern town, who fancied himself no end of a com- 
poser. One day, speaking to a gentleman who had 
been praising his skill on the national instrument, he 
said very gravely : ' Ay, it's a peety but the mayor 
wad dee, an' eh, sir, but I wad compose a gran' 
lament.' 

One of the best exhibitions of pawky Highland 
humour I heard from a professor of moral philosophy 
in one of our universities at the Antipodes. It happily 
and very forcefully illustrates the homely old fact, that 
there are two ways at least of looking at every question. 

As it was told to me I give it. Two crofters in the 
West Highlands, during the very height of a wave of 
intense local feeling caused by sundry harsh evictions, 
were discussing the burning and vexed question of 
landownership. The one was a tall, brawny, typical 
clansman, freckled and weather-beaten, with craggy 
cheeks and unkempt yellow hair, tawny as a lion's 
mane, floating o'er his angular shoulders. The other 
was a weenie, wizened, alert -looking, dwarfish man, 
swart of skin, with keen, beadlike, sparkling eyes and 

u 



290 STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

' tip-tilted ' nose, to which ever and anon he conveyed 
liberal supplies of pungent ' sneeshin' ' from an old, well- 
worn, horn 'mull.' The big man was working himself 
up into a state of intense emotional excitement, smiting 
one big fist into the open palm of its fellow, and with 
tossing hair and flaming eye, declaiming against the 
exactions and cruelties and iniquities that were being 
perpetrated under the hated and out-worn feudal system 
of landlordism. 

'I say it's a black, burning shaame,' he declaimed, 
'that weemen and children shuld be turned out on 
the bare hillside to die like black game in the heather. 
I maintain. Tonal,' he cried, 'that there shuld pe no 
lantlords at aall whatefer. Doesna ta goot pook tell us 
tat " ta earth is ta Lort's an' ta fulness thereof," 
mirover 1 ' 

'Weel, Tougal,' very dryly responded the other, 
after a capacious pinch of snuff, and betraying the 
downright contrariness and combativeness of the true 
Celt, ' I do not know that we would pe much petter off, 
mirover.' 

' And how iss that, sir 1 ' thundered the irate Tougal. 

'Weel, ye see,' said the biblical Tonal, with a sly, 
smirking gleam of suppressed humour, 'we read tat 
ta goot Lort Himsel' had twa tenants, an', feth. He 
evicted them.' 

Another of the extraordinary attempts of the Gael to 
circumvent the difficulties of the Sassenach tongue is the 
following possibly apocryphal dialogue supposed to take 
place on board the s.s. lona. 

Tonal loq., Tougal, wass you efFer on ta lona again 
pef ore ? ' 



STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 291 

Tougal. I wass. 

Tonal. Tid you efFer see ta lona again pefoie ? 

Tougal. I tid. 

The same two I suppose it must have been who quite 
beat the famous story in Punch, where the Highland 
victim of sea-sickness refused to discharge the contents 
of his o'erladen stomach on the valid plea — at least to a 
Highlander — that ' it wass whusky.' 

Tonal, on this occasion again addressing Tougal, who 
is almost pea-green with mal de mer, said : — 

' Fat do you no throw it up for, Tougal ? ' 

Tougal, with a vain attempt to look dignified, says : 
' Na, na ! she canna do that ; she canna affront 
hersel' pefore these Sassenach ! ' pointing to a limp- 
looking, forlorn line of tourists, all casting their food 
to the fishes over the side of the pitching vessel. 

' Ay, ay ! an' fat do you mean by affronting your- 
sel' ? ' said Tonal. ' Do you not see they are aal sick 
togither whatef er 1 ' 

' Oich, oich ! ' moaned Tougal, with a desperate effort 
at regurgitation ; ' put, you'll see, I only had parritch to 
ma preakfast, an' thae chentlemen are . . . Oich, 
oich !...;' but let us drop a veil on the subsequent 
proceedings. 

One of the best and most characteristic touches I 
find among my notes on this subject, is one culled long 
ago from the racy and original pages of Blackwood. It 
is as follows : — 

' Said the landlady : " I'm just perspirin' a' ower wi' 
shame an' disgrace that the cows hasna calved for ye 
to get crame to your parritch." In spite of the cows 
having been so disobliging there was abundance of 



292 STORIES OF HIGHLANDERS 

Highland cheer — towering dishes of scones, oatcakes, 
an enormous cheese, fish, eggs, and a monstrous grey- 
beard of whisky, ready if required; fumes of tobacco 
were floating in the air, and the whole seemed an 
embodiment of the Highlander's grace : " Och, gie us 
rivers of whisky, chau'ders o' snuff, an' tons o' tobacco ; 
a pread an' a cheese as pig as ta great hill o' Ben Nevis, 
an' may oor childer's childer pe lords an' ladies to ta 
latest sheneration." ' 

On repeating this grace to an old hillsman of eighty, 
leaning on his staff, he thoughtfully answered : ' Weel, it's 
a goot crace, a ferry goot crace, but it's a warldly thing.' 

Under the head of funeral customs I described a 
burial in Badenoch. Before I close this chapter I would 
like to chronicle a note furnished by a good lady friend 
in Aberdeen, relating to some quaint marriage customs. 

She writes me : — 'A very curious old custom pre- 
vailed in the Aberdeenshire Highlands more than a 
century ago, which I do not remember ever to have 
seen described in print. It was called "The 
Send." 

' When a couple were to be married, the custom was 
for the bridegroom to send a party of his unmarried 
male friends, with a married one at the head, to fetch 
his bride to his home, and there they would be married. 
She rode if the distance was long, or walked if it was 
short, and it was customary for the young men of the 
party to run a race, trying to see who would first reach 
the house. When the bride arrived, a bannock and some- 
times a cheese was broken over her head as she crossed 
the threshold. She was then led to the fireplace, and 
made to hang a pot on the crook, or turn a live peat, or 



STOBIES OF HIGHLANDERS 293 

some such formality, signifying her entrance on domestic 
duties. 

' A later proceeding was what was called " ridin' the 
brooze." The bride, having been married in her father's 
house, was escorted to her future home by a number 
of her own and her husband's friends on horseback. 
Several of them would then start on a race, trying 
which would be the first to reach the bridegroom's 
home.' 

It is said that dreadful scenes of license and excess 
were not unfrequently the issue of this rude and primi- 
tive mode of marriage procession. 



CHAPTEE XVIII 

THE SCOT ABROAD 

Pride of country — Scottish generosity — The Struan Highlander — 
A Sydney matron's experience — An Antipodean beadle — A 
typical Scot in Calcutta — Characteristic stories about him — 
A close-fisted Scot in Melbourne — A Sydney alderman — Two 
new-chum Scots in Sydney — A disillusioned grazier — A robber 
despoiled — ' Walkin' on the Sawbath ' — ' Shooin' the cat ' — 
Angling in New Zealand — A pawky Scot in the East — An 
engineer's estimate of classic music. 

Such is the tenacity and persistence of the Scottish 
national character that it has been truly said that of 
all men 'a Scotsman becomes more Scottish when he 
leaves Scotland.' Whatever truth may lurk in this 
seeming paradox, it is unquestionable that wherever 
you find the sons of Scotia, in Arctic winters or in 
torrid heat, their nationality is not to be hid. Some 
trick of manner or of speech ' bewray eth them.' Indeed 
they are not wont to ' hide their talents under a bushel ' ; 
and it is but expressing an acknowledged fact, and I 
trust as a Scotsman I do it with becoming modesty, 
yet with a perfectly legitimate pride, that they are rarely 
found, in any appreciable number, filling menial or sub- 
ordinate positions anywhere abroad. 



THE SCOT ABROAD 295 

What is often levelled at us as a reproach, namely 
our clannishness, is not clannishness in the true sense 
of the word, and in no sense can it be considered a 
reproach. Our detractors by the charge seemingly 
mean to convey that we are narrow in our sympathies, 
and selfishly exclusive in our somewhat restricted view 
of humanity as a whole. Now the clan idea has little 
existence in the feeling of travelled Scotsmen. The 
national feeling, if you like, which is a far loftier and 
broader thing, burns with a clear, steady, ardent flame 
that nought can quench. Less demonstrative than our 
Irish brethren, we are not less devoted to the national 
idea; and the common heritage we possess in our 
language, our literature, our songs, our history, and 
the exquisite natural beauty of our rugged country, 
serves to knit Scotchmen to each other all the wide 
world over in bonds of sentiment as elastic as silk, 
but strong as steel — only, our sentiment seldom runs 
away with us. It is controlled by reason, by habits of 
acquired reflection and logical deduction; and though 
the national sentiment may refuse to manifest itself 
at the behest of a counterfeit, no matter howsoever 
cunningly bedecked in national guise ; or to forward 
some unworthy object, no matter howsoever plausibly 
disguised in Scottish colours; let but a genuine call 
be made upon it, for objects worthy and in unmistak- 
ably truly Scottish tones, and the response is prompt 
and generous beyond all dry calculation or formal 
exactitude. I have seen this proved over and over 
again in my thirty years' residence abroad. The 
Scottish sentiment is being constantly appealed to by 
spurious, base, designiug tricksters; but what it is 



296 THE SCOT ABROAD 

capable of in the way of real brotherly help, broad, 
loving charity, and cosmopolitan beneficence, the records 
of many a Highland and Caledonian Society — and they 
flourish in all the ends of the earth — could abundantly 
establish were the testimony needed. 

An instance of this love of home, of one's 'calf 
country,' and of the halting Highland - English, just 
comes to me as I write. A Highlander in Australia, not 
long away from the peat -reek and the heather, had 
wandered into the bar of a country-town hotel in search 
of refreshment. Scanning the labels on the various 
bottles, his attention suddenly seemed to be arrested by 
one showy label which represented a clansman in full 
Highland dress in a very bacchanalian attitude, and the 
bold brand in big letters bore the legend ' Struan Blend.' 
At once the eyes of the exile brightened, ay, and they 
might have been seen to glisten with a suspicious moist- 
ness. He stretched out his brawny arm, and took an 
affectionate grasp of the bottle, then holding it at 
arm's-length, he aff"ectionately apostrophised the name. 
' Ay, ay ! ' he gasped with deep feeling, ' Stru - u - an ! 
Stru-u-u-an ! Do you know, tat wass ta fery place I 
wass nearly porn to, mirover ? ' He meant that his 
birthplace was in the Struan neighbourhood.- 

The matron of one of our magnificent Sydney 
hospitals told me an incident which she thought 
eminently characteristic of the Scot, and I must 
just let the reader judge for himself. One of the rarae 
aves in the Colony, an old Scottish beggar-woman, called 
on the matron one day, and after hearing her tale of 
woe, the kind lady gave the petitioner some tea, sugar, 
and other little comforts, and to crown her benevolence 



THE SCOT ABROAD 297 

added a bright new shilling, fresh from the neighbouring 
mint. Next day, beaming with smiles and radiant with 
self-satisfaction, the suppliant again presented herself, 
apparently expecting another course of the same treat- 
ment. ' But,' said the matron, ' didn't I give you a 
shilling only yesterday 1 ' ' Eh, bless me, mem ! ' with 
apparently innocent surprise, ' but shairly ye didna think 
I wad pairt wi' that, did ye 1 ' 

And we can even find beadle stories at the Antipodes. 
As witness the note I find about ' Auld Jamie Simm,' a 
well-known identity in Auckland, New Zealand, and for 
many a year beadle and sexton of St. Andrew's Church 
there. Jamie kept up the traditions of his office with 
true Scottish fidelity, and was notoriously fond of the 
mountain dew, especially when he had not to pay for it. 
On one occasion, two of his patrons, who were wont 
to humour the old man, and enjoyed his racy and 
shrewd sayings (Mr. Whitson, a wealthy brewer, and 
Mr. Russell, a prominent merchant, and both typical 
Scottish colonists), had asked him into the club, and 
there they had regaled the old fellow with a dram. 
Jamie with deep feeling, ere he quaffed the national 
nectar, and with as much solemnity as if he were saying 
grace, said : ' Weel, Maister Russell, here's t'ye ! Eh, 
man, there's you an' Maister Whitson, losh I'll be sweir 
tae bury ye.' 

One of the best-known Scottish characters in Calcutta 
when I first went out to India in 1866, was an eccentric, 
wealthy old merchant whom I will call Stuart. He was 
in many pronounced respects a typical Scot, such as is 
often portrayed by the novelist. No man better knew 
how to get full value for his rupee, and withal he had 



298 THE SCOT ABROAD 

a somewhat ostentatious pride, and was never better 
pleased than when he could indulge his love of display 
and magnify his own importance at little cost to his 
pocket. Perhaps the following true anecdote will better 
illustrate his peculiar disposition. 

Once a year it was his custom to give a sort of 
annual dinner to his clerks and clients. He had a nice 
house and grounds, and was most hospitable in throwing 
these open to the office hands, and any planters or ship 
captains having dealings with the firm who might be in 
Calcutta at the time. The dinner was always a sub- 
stantial one : plenty of fruits provided, viands well 
cooked, and of the best procurable materials the bazaars 
could supply ; but old Stuart's heart failed him when 
it came to the drinks. Here his Scottish idiosyncrasy 
betrayed itself. When all the guests were assembled, 
Stuart would come in, with an assumption of hilarious, 
almost boisterous hospitality, and rubbing his hands, or 
perhaps clapping some junior clerk on the back, he 
would call out loudly and cheerfully some such oft- 
heard formula as the following : — 

' Come awa' in-bye noo, lads, an' sit doon. That's 
richt, that's richt. I'm rael gled tae see ye. It's only 
yince a year that we a' meet thegither, an' I want ye to 
enjoy yerscl's. Noo, what'll ye hae ? what'll ye hae ? Jist 
gie't a name. There's everything ye can mention. There's 
hock an' clairet, an' Burgundy, an' Saaterrn, an' Mosell, 

an' cham]3agne. But' here he became if possible 

more jocose and boisterous, and rattling on before any one 
could interrupt, he would continue : ' but I'm thinkin' a' 
thae's fusionless an' unsatisfactory drinks. They're no 
guid for the stamack, lads, no guid for the stamack. 



THE SCOT ABROAD 299 

There's naething for the digestion like beer. Jist that. 
A vera good idea. Beer's the thing. Boy ! ' shouting to 
the bearer, and as if in perfect agreement with an 
expression of the popular demand, though not a soul 
beside himself had had an opportunity of uttering a 
syllable ; ' Boy, bring in the beer ! Ah, that's richt, 
that's richt ! ' And the white-robed waiters, the beer 
being all ready cooled and close at hand, promptly 
appeared with the old fellow's selected beverage. And 
to do him justice there was never any stint of beer, and 
even a ' wee Donal' o' whusky ' to keep the beer doon, 
if any one desired it; but the clairet an' champagne, 
' an' a' thae expensive an' fushionless drinks,' were 
never forthcoming at any of old Stuart's annual 
feasts. 

The old fellow's peculiarities were of course well- 
known, and formed the theme of many a joke in 
merchant circles in Calcutta. A friend of my dear 
brother's, Mr. Evan Jack, tells how he once tried, out 
of a spirit of pure mischievous fun, to trick old Stuart 
out of a small forced contribution to the kirk. It was 
in this way. In Calcutta the usual currency for the 
kirk - plate is the ubiquitous, but, alas ! now sadly 
shrunken and depreciated rupee. But rupees are bulky, 
and Calcutta pantaloons are often made pocketless, 
especially one's Sunday suit. No Calcutta merchant 
ever thinks of carrying current coin about with him, 
least of all to church. So a custom has grown up of 
using what are called 'chits.' That is, a pencil and 
little slips of paper are provided, or a worshipper may 
use his calling card. Any way, he writes down on 
card or slip the amount of his offering, and next day 



300 THE SCOT ABROAD 

the church chuprassee calls round to the various addresses, 
and collects the several amounts on these chits, practi- 
cally, in fact, I.O.Us. Now one day Jack noticed that 
old Stuart always came provided with coin, and invari- 
ably dropped in just one rupee, and wishing to test him, 
he whispered as they were going out of church : ' I say, 
Stuart, lend me a rupee to put in the plate, will you? ' 
At once Stuart's hand went to his pocket, and then, as 
if a sudden thought had arrested his first impulse, he 
said : ' Oh, never mind, man. I'll pit it in for ye, an' 
ye can let me hae't back the morn.' So saying he 
dropped in his off'ering, 'one rupee.' Sure enough 
his chuprassee duly applied for the coin at Jack's office 
next day. Poor old Stuart ! to him might well have 
been applied the biting satire of the old clergyman, 
who, after having extracted a reluctant contribution 
from a rich, old, penurious hunks of a fellow, who parted 
with his coin with a sigh, saying, 'Ah, well, we can't 
take our money with us, can we ? ' responded somewhat 
savagely : ' No, sir, an' if ye could I'm feared it wad 
melt.' 

Equally close fisted was an old Melbourne identity in 
the early days, who went by the name of ' Licht wecht 
Davie,' though his real name, I believe, was Sandie 
Young. He had at one time kept a shop in Leith 
Walk, but whether he had been sent out 

For his country's good, 

or had emigrated of his own free will I know not. At 
any rate he had a demoniacal temper, and indulged some- 
times in almost maniacal outbursts, culminating in atro- 
cious cruelties, which he would inflict on the hapless objects 



THE SCOT ABROAD 301 

of his fury, should they perchance be weak and helpless. 
He was a miser, too, and altogether an unlovely character. 
The favourite drink at that time in Melbourne was 
some compound of frothy beer and other ingredients, 
and was known as a Spider. It so happened that this 
ferocious old fellow had been arrested for some horrid 
act of cruelty committed on a number of goats in 
Melbourne. Being possessed of pretty ample means, he 
managed to retain Sir Archibald Michie for his defence. 
The learned Counsel limited his efforts to procure some 
mitigation of what he felt was likely to be a severe 
sentence, as the cruelty could not be denied. Several 
witnesses to character were called, but in cross-exami- 
nation by the Counsel for the prosecution as to whether 
they had ever known the prisoner to commit any 
benevolent or kindly act, each one replied in the 
negative. Not one benevolent act could be adduced, 
until at length one humorous fellow seemed to re- 
member something of the kind, and on being pressed 
by Sir Archibald : ' You have known the prisoner 
perform a benevolent act 1 ' 

'Yes, sir.' 

' Well, tell his Honour. What was the nature of the 
actr 

' Please yer Honour,' said the witness, with a smile, 
as he thought of the quip, and referring to the frothy 
drink just mentioned above, 'I once saw him save a 
fly from a spider.' Even Michie was comoilsed. 

I have already shown that the Scot does not change 
so very much even when he finds himself in foreign 
parts, and I venture to cull a few more illustrations of 
this from my note-book. 



302 THE SCOT ABROAD 

The following is related of a very worthy alderman 
of Sydney, as true-hearted and kindly a Scot as ever 
smelled peat -reek, but whose acquisition of a hand- 
some competence, and advancement in civic and social 
dignity, had not tended to lessen his complacent satis- 
faction with himself. It was on the occasion of the 
visit of the Prince of Wales' two sons to the Australian 
capital. Our friend was a toon cooncillor, and the corpo- 
rate body, led by the Mayor, had assembled to do honour 
to the two young princes. The worthy alderman had 
no idea of allowing himself to be overshadowed by any 
mayor j and so with the idea of ingratiating himself and 
being pleasant and complimentary, he pushed through 
the inner circle, interrupted the Mayor, who was making 
himself as agreeable as he knew how, and much, no 
doubt, to the disgust of that worthy functionary and to 
the amused surprise of the princes, he seized the hand of 
one of them, shook it warmly, and acquainted them with 
the important fact, that he 'had met their mother at 
hame.' This was kindly meant, no doubt. He simply 
wished to put the royal visitors at their ease. His little 
item of news, however, seemed somehow to fall flat; 
there was but a frigid response. The Mayor turned 
purple. Some of the aldermen swore softly behind their 
beards. Others stuffed handkerchiefs in their mouths. 
Our friend, however, was in no way abashed. He just 
blundered on, shook the royal hand heartily, and, still 
thinking of his first item, added the commentary, ' An 
a vera good wumman she is.' 

I once overheard a little morsel of real Scottish in 
Sydney, between two new arrivals. The two poor 
fellows were clad in heavy homespun, and the time 



THE SCOT ABROAD 303 

was December, when the blazing sun in Sydney pours 
down liquid fire, in comparison with the cold gray 
northern climate, and every living thing feels as if it were 
about to be almost scorched and shrivelled out of exist- 
ence, during the sweltering hours of high noon. I had 
just come out of the Post-office, and was standing in the 
shady arcade that runs along the imposing front of that 
majestic pile (the architect by the bye was a typical 
Scot), when I heard the well-known tones of the auld 
Doric, and at once became an intent listener. 

One poor fellow, taking off his thick Scottish cap and 
wiping the streams of perspiration from his flushed and 
steaming face, said, with a grip on the rs that no one 
but a true Caledonian could accomplish. 'Man, Jock, 
but it's awfu' war-r-r-m here ! ' and then with a touch of 
pathos, as he thought of the wintry fields and hills far, 
far away, he added, with almost a sob : ' An' jist tae think 
that there's fower fit o' sna' at hame this vera meenit.' 

I am glad to say I got work for them both, and they 
are now doing well in the land of their adoption, 
' war-r-r-m ' though that undoubtedly is. 

I heard the following at a Government House dinner 
in Melbourne. I had the good fortune to be seated 
next my genial and gifted friend Mr. Ellery, the 
Astronomer Eoyal for Victoria. He told us that one 
night at the Observatory, he had been showing the 
wonders of the moon to a distinguished party, among 
them being a fine old Scottish pastoralist, or squatter as 
they are generally called. He had experienced many 
vicissitudes during his long colonial career. He had 
been harassed by truculent selectors, who had picked 
the choicest bits out of his run for the jmrpose of 



304 THE SCOT ABROAD 

levying black-mail, or for the more legitimate purpose of 
turning the grazing lands into arable farms, but in either 
case quite an object of detestation to the Shepherd King. 
Then when financial troubles came on the Colony, the 
Government had tried to make up for the failure of 
their fiscal policy by rack-renting the graziers ; so the 
old squatter, after looking long and intently through the 
great telescope, and noting the forbidding desolateness 
and aridity of the great lunar plains, as he yielded up 
his place to another of the party, and in response to 
Mr. Ellery's query as to what he thought of the moon, 
said, as he sadly shook his head : — 
' Ach ! there's anither illusion gone.' 
' What do you mean *? ' asked the astronomer. 
'Eh, man,' said the squatter, 'I have aye thocht 
that if ever I was fairly hunted oot here, between the 
Government and thae infernal selectors, that I micht 
find a refuge in the mune, if naewhere else ; but, losh 
man, I maun say that hope is gone ; FOR IT looks 

BAD SHEEP COUNTRY.' 

The same entertaining companion told me, at the 
same dinner, another characteristic incident of the early, 
lawless Melbourne days. The fine city was but a small 
bush township then. The site whereon now stands the 
palatial but possibly pretentious Houses of Parliament, 
was then an uneven, rocky, thickly-wooded hillside. 
Mr. Ellery, wending his Avay to his lonely dwelling 
rather late one night, was suddenly waylaid by two 
lusty footpads, who knocked him down, rifled his 
pockets, and indeed half -throttled him. Just then, 
looming close by, and but dimly discernible through 
the haze, Mr. Ellery espied the towering bulk of a 



THE SCOT ABROAD 305 

tall, athletic friend of his, who had been a fellow- 
passenger and chum on the voyage out. He managed 
to yell out his name — a distinctly Scottish one — and to 
appeal for help. In a moment the burly and gallant 
Scot sprang to the rescue. In a trice the positions 
were reversed. One of the miscreants bolted like a 
rabbit through the scrub ; the other was firmly held 
in the strong, nervous grip of the rescuing Scot, and 
over they went, locked in desperate clench, rolling over 
and over down the steep, till they went souse into a 
narrow sort of rocky gully at the bottom of the gorge. 
Mr. EUery's friend was on top, and quickly jammed his 
bruised antagonist into a jagged crevice with his knee, 
as if he were dumping wool, and being now joined by 
the prospective Astronomer Royal, they began to over- 
haul the thief and ' take an observation or two.' Pulling 
out a watch, the placid athlete asked EUery if that 
were his. ' Yes,' said my friend. Then came a purse. 
'Is that yours also?' 'Yes,' was the response, and 
it was handed over. Next came a handful of coin 
and a fat roll of notes. ' Are these yours ? ' ' No,' was 
the reply. 'Aweel, then, they're mine,' said the Cale- 
donian, as he coolly pocketed the salvage; and then, 
with a parting kick, the baffled thief was ignominiously 
dismissed into the thickening darkness. 

A shrewd old farmer in New South Wales, one of 
my New England constituents, James Swales by name, 
told me an incident of his own early career which 
affords a capital illustration of one phase of the old, 
pawky, Pharisaic attitude of mind as regards the 
observance of the Sabbath, which characterised the 
ordinary Scottish mind about the middle of this century. 

X 



306 THE SCOT ABROAD 

As it was told me in Australia, I may be permitted to 
introduce it here. Mr. Swales was a young Englishman 
who had crossed the Border and settled in Dunbar, 
where an opening existed for an energetic young fellow 
as a shopkeeper. The provost of the town was also the 
local banker, and as Mr. Swales was a customer of the 
bank, the provost took quite a kindly interest in the 
young trader. One day he sent for Mr. Swales, and 
after a few compliments, saying how pleased he was to 
see he was getting on so well, etc., he said : ' An' I'm 
vera gled to see, Maister Swales, that ye dinna negleck 
yer releegious duties. Ye gang to the Wesleyans, I'm 
hearin' ; but I maun caution ye, my frien', no tae gang 
oot walkin' for pleesure on the Sawbath ; for if ye dae, 
ye'll loss a' yer custom. Oor folk'll no' stand Sawbath 
walkers at ony price.' 

My good friend Mr. M'Eachern of Melbourne gave 
me a graphic picture of the old Scottish domestic life 
and the strong individuality of the older generation, 
which I would like to give here. His own grandfather 
was the subject, and the story lost nothing in being told 
under the starry splendour of an Australian night, with 
the shrill, strident chorus of the cicadas making the air 
ring with their almost overpowering clamour all around. 
The whole family had been engaged in the usual family 
worship one evening, and the white-haired patriarch was 
praying with much fervour, when the current of his 
thoughts was somewhat rudely disturbed by hearing the 
aged wife of his bosom utter a sharp, sibilant ' s-s-shoo ! ' 
from the other side of the room. He looked up irri- 
tably, paused, and then resumed his interrupted petitions. 
The sound was repeated — 'Shoo! s-s-shoo!' sounded 



THE SCOT ABROAD 307 

grannie's voice in a loud whisper. Again the old man 
paused, glowered at her rather indignantly, while every 
head was lifted from their chairs. Yet a third time, 
but more intense, came the disconcerting ' sh-sh-shoo ! ' 
And this time, following the direction of the old lady's 
anxious glance, directed towards the supper-table, he 
spied the cat taking liberties with the milk. Hastily 
picking up his Psalm-book, he shied it at the marauder, 
interpolating in his prayer a bald statement of fact! 
rather than a petition perhaps, as he grimly muttered: 
'Toots, wumman, that's better nor a' yer shoo-shoo- 
shooin'.' 

^ The aim would seem to have been as earnest and 
direct as the prayer, as my friend was always careful 
to explain that the cat was sent flying in true sportsman- 
like fashion. 

Many a laugh has been raised at some of John 
Leech's inimitable fishing pictures and yarns in the 
pages of- Punch, but not one, I think, ever came up in 
humorous suggestiveness to an incident which I heard 
related of an old squatter near Timaru, in New Zealand, 
and which was vouched for to me as an absolute fact! 
There is splendid fishing in the rivers and streams in 
that part of the Canterbury Province, trout and salmon 
acclimatisation having been practised with much suc- 
cess. Well, an old squatter from the Mackenzie 
Country, who had amassed considerable wealth in 

pastoral pursuits, and who was named M'L , had 

settled down at Fairlie, near Timaru, and found' time 
hanging rather heavy on his hands. The bank manager, 
who was an enthusiastic angler, advised him to try the 
delightful art so dear to the gentle Izaak. Old M'L 



308 TEE SCOT ABROAD 

was a prosaic, matter-of-fact man, with little imagina- 
tion, and very few ideas beyond mutton and wool. 
However, he had heard men go into raptures over details 
of fishing excursions, and knowing it to be fashionable, 
he resolved to try 'his 'prentice han'.' Procuring the 
necessary paraphernalia, he accordingly hied him to a 
favourite bit of water in the vicinity known as Silver 
Stream. Here he began his first attempt at fly-fishing. 
He had seen the banker and others at the sport, and he 
attempted to follow their example. Imagine the scene : 
a solemn -visaged, preternaturally grave-looking old 
gentleman, clad in black beaver, stiff stock, white waist- 
coat, black coat and trousers, standing as stiff as a 
poker, with his fishing-rod held at arm's-length in front 
of him, and his arms moving mechanically, as if he were 
sawing a log. Swish went the line, swash went the 
hooks on the water. Old Mac kept pumping away 
in this fashion without moving a muscle or altering the 
monotonous regularity of his movements. For some 
hours he had kept this up, and was inly coming to the 
conclusion that ' fushin' was a vera much over-estimated 
species of deevairshun.' Just then the banker hove in 
sight. 

'Hallo, Mr. M'L ,' he said, 'what's this you're 

doin'r 

'Ah'm fushin',' came the reply in tones of solemn 
gravity, while the pump-handle process was continued 
with dogged pertinacity, and with all the regularity of an 
automaton. 

' Have you caught any'?' again asked the cheery banker. 

With even an added gloom and relentless severity, 
came the studiously truthful reply : — 



THE SCOT ABROAD 309 

' Weel, no, I canna say that I hae gotten ony fush ; 
but I have heerd the awnimals plash on mair than one 
occaashion.' 

Talk after that of 'fishing all day and getting a 
nibble.' Surely our New Zealand er tops the record for 
patience and matter-of-factness. 

A first-class illustration of the sly, pawky, almost sar- 
donic irony of the genuine Scot, is told me by my 
cousin, the ex-Danish Consul at Singapore, and for a 
long time a member of the Council there, relative to one 
of the leading merchants, whom we will call Mac- 
Farlane. Old Mac was what is commonly known as 
'a dry old stick.' He was a leading spirit in the often 
highly -fluctuating prices and speculative dealings in 
such native commodities as cutch, gambler, indigo, 
cloves, etc. One day a rise in cutch had been rumoured, 
and a pertinacious bill-broker, keenly on the scent for 
reliable information, had called on Old Mac with the 
intention of trying to elicit what information he could. 
Affecting an airy indifference, he passed the usual re- 
marks about the weather and other social local topics, 
and then began his fishing operations. 

'I hear you are buying cutch, largely, Mac' 

' Div ye 1 Wha tell't ye that 1 ' 

' Oh, I hear there's a short crop, and that you have 
"got in" well' 

'Indeed!' 

' I suppose the out-turn really is short this year '? ' 

But the wary old badger was not to be drawn. Sud- 
denly assuming the lead in the conversation, he said : — 

'Maister Broon, did ye ever hear o' a distinguished 
poet caa'ed Dr. Watts ? ' 



310 THE SCOT ABROAD 

'What ! Dr. Watts the hymn writer*? Oh, yes.' 
' Aweel, div ye mind o' a hymn that begins — 

' Hoo doth the little busy bee 

Improve ilk shining 'oor, 
An' gethers honey all the day 
From ev'ry openin' fioo'er ? ' 

' Oh yes, I quite remember that.' 

'Ah weel, ah'm no' that openin' fioo'er the day, 
Maister Broon. Gude mornin', sir.' 

My friend Harper also tells me a good story of an 
old Scottish engineer, who was proceeding to Calcutta, 
and happened to be a fellow-passenger with my friend 
as far as Colombo on one of the P. and 0. boats, and with 
this I may fitly close my chapter. It happened that 
two of the most gifted musical artistes of the century 
were also passengers, and in the goodness of their 
hearts, to relieve the tedium of the voyage, they graci- 
ously consented to improvise a concert for some bene- 
volent object, and of course it goes without saying every 
one was charmed, — with one exception perhaps. Old 
Eoss was asked how he liked the music. Thus he de- 
livered himself : — 

■ ' Oh, weel, the fiddlin's no sae bad, but as for that 
pianny playin', I jist canna thole it at ony price. Ye 
see my three lassies hae been deave, deavin' me ilka 
mornin' for three years wi' jist the same sort o' thing. 
I can not stan' this high strike sort o' thing ava.' Noo- 
adays ye never hear a dacent sort o' a tune that a bodie 
can unnerstan' — the like o' " G-reen Crows the Rashes," 
noo. This Eyetawlyin trash is jist a pairfeck scunner. ' 



CHAPTEE XIX 

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 

Thus far, dear reader, have we strayed together,, 
following the devious path of my random recollections. 
I set out with the main intention of culling what sprigs 
and sprays of humour might be found projecting along 
our path, and I would fain hope we may have together 
gathered enough to make some pleasant decoration, and 
leave some sweet perfume in one or other of the inner 
chambers of thy imagination and memory. My task 
would be ill fulfilled indeed, however, were I to leave 
the impression that our Scottish race are but a people 
given to erratic and eccentric manifestations of humour, 
whether grim or pawky, bucolic or bacchanalian. These 
stories I have given are but the lights and shadows on 
the stream. At best they can but indifferently indicate 
the course of the current from the surface. The broad, 
deep volume of national life is not to be gauged by any 
such standards. The grave-eyed, pure-souled, tender- 
hearted, earnest, thoughtful men that form the fate and 
shape the destiny of a people, under Providence, are for 
the most part silent men. It is in deeds, not words, we 



312 SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 

read the story of a nation's life. And brushing aside 
all the excrescences and aberrations of mere mutable 
phenomena and temporary trivialities, could we for a 
moment look a little deeper into this noble and majestic 
stream of Scottish national life, and seek to discover 
some of its best constituents, we would find, I think, 
one of the strongest elements in its composition 
to be, and ever to have been, a deep, abiding, all- 
powerful loyalty to conscience, and a splendid faith in 
the divine government and sovereign power of God. 

I have come back, after thirty years of sometimes 
weary working and much wandering on the face of the 
earth, to the beautiful old glen where many of my 
tenderest associations are gathered together, and I find 
even here among the swelling hills that time and chance 
have worked wondrous changes. It matters little 
whether the change is inward or outward. The place to 
me is no longer the same. The old generation has 
almost passed away. The little heather-thatched habita- 
tions have sunk into the soil with their former owners, 
and we have now trim stone and slate cottages of the 
modern type. The very hills themselves look to my 
travelled imaginings to be less lofty, the rivers to be 
narrowed, and the distances somehow shrunken, and I 
know that much at least of these changes is in myself 
and not in them. "Well, is it not true that all these 
' outward things that perish in the using,' this goodly- 
seeming ofttward show, are after all only ' the things 
that are seen,' and in their very nature and essence 
' temporal,' evanescent, mutable 1 But when I begin to 
inquire into the inner and real life of the people ; when 
I seek to get below the placid exterior, the ofttimes 



SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 313 

assumed look of stolidity, almost stupidity; when I 
probe into emotions and touch tender chords ; when I 
revive old associations and recollections, I at once begin 
to find that I am in the presence of ' the things that are 
unseen and eternal.' I find still existing the deep, 
passionate love of country, and the honest, worthy pride 
in the high name and good repute of her best men and 
women w^ho have played their part and gone to their 
reward. I find a warm attachment for living, present, 
kindly, earnest men and noble women. There is yet the 
simple, social, family life, the sweet, neighbourly kind- 
nesses, the broad, bluff, democratic independence of spirit, 
and above and below and through it all, the old earnest 
faith in the unseen, the w^illing recognition of the 
sovereignty of God, and the ready obedience to con- 
science as the final arbiter in every court of moral appeal. 
I find the pulpit teaching to be broader than I fancy 
it was of yore. I find less sectarian bitterness and a 
heartier accord on matters of common belief, and a 
much more tolerant spirit existent in matters non- 
essential. I am told the old bitter intolerance and 
bigoted spirit still lingers among the Western Highlands, 
and that in some parts the odmm theologicum flourishes 
in all its wonted rank and baneful vigour ; but there are 
indications that Christian unity is making headway, and 
that the river of our Scottish religious life is not only 
getting broader, but that it carries depth with it as well 
as breadth. At a Free Church Bazaar the other day, 
for instance, up the Glen, the fine, forceful, young Free 
Church minister and his amiable, gentle wife, had the 
loyal and active assistance of the kindly incumbent of 
the neighbouring Episcopal Church and his comely. 



314 SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 

genial consort; while the sister of the Established 
Church minister of the parish gracefully and efficiently 
presided over another of the stalls. And this I am 
told is by no means an exceptional case. Oh, if the 
Christian Church and Christian workers could only thus 
' close up the ranks ' and present a united front to the 
common foe, what a splendid ' advance along the whole 
line ' might not be made, and what conquests achieved 
under that glorious banner which is inscribed with the 
golden Gospel letters, 'Peace on earth and goodwill 
among men ' ! 

I have been struck, too, with the hearty, breezy, self- 
respect and independent bearing of the people. It is 
far removed from arrogance or assertiveness, although 
it must be confessed it is sometimes calculated to rouse 
antagonism, as in the case of a dear old Scottish spinster 
who certainly has a gude conceit o' hersel', and who was 
made the subject of a fussy, under-bred English lady's 
questionings in Liverpool a short time ago. The 
Englishwoman rather resented the calm air of conscious 
superiority assumed by the Scottish lady, and with 
some asperity asked her : ' Do you really think. Miss 

K , that you Scottish are better than we English?' 

The reply was direct and emphatic : ' Certainly, madam, 

we are better born.' My cousin. Captain W , who was 

present, said afterwards : ' You were rather hard on Mrs. 

A were you not ? ' The good old spinster at once said 

with naive surprise : ' But dear me. Captain, you agree 
with me, do you not ? I only told her the truth.' 
Well, without endorsing this estimate of the complacent 
spinster, we may remark that this trait is the direct 
antithesis of the sycophancy of the East, and in many 



SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 315 

respects different from the manner of either the English 
or the Irish peasant. There is never the volubility of 
the latter, nor, to be sure, the same rapid play of wit. 
We are not so impulsive. Our emotions are as strong, 
probably deeper, but they do not manifest themselves so 
readily. We are not so stolid as the English on the other 
hand, and perhaps not so sectional and provincial ; and it 
seems to me, from what I must confess to be a very 
cursory and inadequate observation — too partial and 
casual for me to trust too much to it, yet from what I 
have seen, I would be inclined to think that there is 
more general and kindly contact between all ranks and 
classes in Scotland than in England. There is not such 
a wide disparity between peasant and pastor, for 
instance, north of the Tweed, as between Hodge and the 
rector south of the same stream. All classes mix more 
freely together in Scotland : relations between mistress 
and maid, master and servant, were formerly, and even 
now in great measure are, I think, kindlier, more cordial, 
more human in fact. Now, can this be due, as I am 
inclined to think in great measure it may be due, to the 
difference in the genius of the two opposite forms of 
Church government. Presbytery and Episcopacy ^ I do 
not profess to be qualified to give any authoritative 
opinion, but I would like to see the question worked 
out; and I hope a champion on either side may be 
induced to take up the interesting task, and show how 
the systems relativelj^ work in the development of 
national character, and in their attitude towards the 
masses and the classes in this and other respects. It 
does seem to me that 'the hall' and 'the parsonage,' 
the ' suburban villa ' and the substantial tradesman's or 



316 SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 

trader's comfortable home, are farther removed in kindly 
social sentiment and mutuality of interest from the 
labourer's humble cot in England than is the case in 
Scotland. ' Giles and Hodge ' are not the same as 
'Sandie and Jock' in their attitude towards their so- 
called social superiors. There is very little touching of 
the cap in rural Scotland, but a deal of manly and frank 
courtesy and delicacy. There is a frank, hearty, breezy, 
yet perfectly respectful consciousness of one's own worth, 
and an unconventional, democratic, yet perfectly natural 
and easy self-assertion, which I find simply delightful, 
and which is very like the open, manly, democratic 
equality we find characteristic of the best of the 
Australian peoples as a rule." 

I believe this to be largely due to the genius and 
influence of the Presbyterian system. But I must hurry 
to a close. My book is not intended as a pretentious or 
comprehensive inquiry into the causes of national char- 
acter. I have been content to be simply a chronicler of 
gossip about some of the more characteristic and salient 
manifestations of the humour of the kindly Scot. 

Let me conclude with the earnest hope and prayer, 
that all true Scotsmen everywhere, all who love the 
dear old land of crimson heather and trailing mist, will 
seek to maintain and perpetuate the kindly nature of 
the ' britherly Scot.' Amid the clash of creeds, the war 
of classes, the hatred and estrangement and bitter feuds 
that rage among the nations, let Scotland's sons all the 
wide world over testify to the warmth of their love for 
their common country, the sincerity of their attachment 
to each other, their passionate loyalty to the principles 
of liberty in every phase of human effort or aspiration. 



SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 317 

Let them cherish the memory of that noble roll of 
heroes, martyrs, patriots, and kinsmen ' who laid down 
their lives ' for truth and righteousness and freedom ; 
let them hold fast their heritage of civil and religious 
liberty, purchased by such precious blood ; and ' let no 
man take their crown.' So, united, so, loyal to each 
other and to our glorious past, so, faithful to conscience 
and loyal to ' the God of our Fathers,' we shall take up 
the burden allotted to us, and bear no ignoble part in the 
coming strife, which indeed is even now upon us : that 
war to the death against sedition, disunion, and spurious 
socialism ; against fell anarchy and chill materialism ; 
against soul-corroding mammon worship, and the subtle 
poison of mere intellei^tual advancement, unaccompanied 
by the devout surrender of the will and spirit to the 
universal, immanent Father Almighty. 

So mote it be ! 



THE END 



Printed by R. & R. Clark, Ediiihiirgh 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON ^OOR AIN FOLK/ 



' His powers of description are utilised in. many good scenes of 
rustic life . . . many happy sketches of the natural beauties of the 
Braes of Angus — many anecdotes . . . both fresh and forcible.' — 
Atlienoeum. 

' Eeally interesting and amusing ; there are fcAV of his own 
nationality who will not be deeply interested in parts of these 
"memories of manse life." The central figure is that of no common 
man, and it must possess an interest even for those -who can claim 
no kindred with his country, and whose lines have been cast in far 
different places.' — Saturday Heview. 

' With such stories the volume sparkles. The student and 
historian of Scotland and Scottish manners in the first half of the 
nineteenth century will find it both entertaining as a sketch book 
and invaluable as a record. ' — Montrose Standard. 

■ 'No more genial and entertaining book has been issued from the 
press since Dean Eamsay printed his Reminiscences of Scottish Life 
and Character . . . tells his stories with such gusto and felicity of 
language . . . written with great vigour and freshness . . . will be 
read with genuine pleasure and interest by all who can enjoy the 
native humour of the Scottish peasantry.' — People's Friend. 

' Contains a vivid picture of humble manse life, and the struggles 
of the Disruption, and above all is full of " pawky " stories. He has 
been before the public already as "Maori," and should attract fresh 
readers by his new book. ' — Pall Mall Gazette. 

' Scots folk all the world over will feel that they owe a debt of 
gratitude to Mr. Inglis for the charming volume of reminiscences 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON ' OOR AIN FOLK '—Continued. 

which he has just produced. It is sure not only of a welcome but of 
a perpetual resting-place on the shelves of even the most crowded 
library. 

' Contains a store of admirable Scottish stories, many of them 
quite new to us, that can only be compared in quality to the classic 
collection of Dean Ramsay. ... A great treat to all true Scotchmen.' 
— Glasgow Herald. 

'A perfect treasure-house of good things.' — Arbroath Herald. 

' Much that is of public interest . . . many pleasant glimpses of a 
rural Scotland which has vanished as completely as the Flood. . . . 
Many of his stories are fresh, pointed, and racy of the soil,' etc. — 
Daily Free Press (Aberdeen). 

' Of value as a historical record of Scottish rural life during the 
past hundred years. No musty chronicle of dry-as-dust facts. Every 
page is brightened either by a vivid description of scenery, a comical 
anecdote, or a witty retort, and the reader must be a ri^rose mortal 
indeed who does not enjoy the brisk humour of the narrator.' — Dundee 
Advertiser. 

'Wonderfully graphic and realistic. . . . We are introduced to 
many fine types of Scotch character, many quaint customs and habits, 
and a diversified mass of amusing and out-of-the-way information,' 
etc. — North British Daily Mail. 

'Bound to become a favourite wherever Scottish character and 
humour are appreciated.' — Scotsynan. 

' One of the best of its class we have seen. . . abounds in capital 
stories.' — Westminster Gazette. 

' A very chatty and interesting book, and will be especially appre- 
ciated by those who can recall the condition of social life in Scotland 
in the thirties and forties.' — Inverness Courier. 

' A delightful book. ... It contains a very vivid account of the 
Disruption and Disruption times.' — Christian Leader. 

* A storehouse of witty retorts, and full of shrewd observation and 
vivid pictures of a phase of society which has passed away.' — 
Speaker. 

' But no mere isolated quotations can give an adequate idea of 
these manse-born memories of " Oor Ain Folk," with their simplicity 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON ' OOR AIN FOLK '—Continued. 

and pathos, their sturdy independence of character, their unconscious 
heroism in humble life, their intelligence, their humour, and their 
strong individuality — qualities which have induced the successful 
politician of the Southern Cross to become the social historian of the 
"Braes o' Angus," and made the facts of Mr. Inglis no less interest- 
ing than the fiction of Mr. Barrie.' — Daily Chronicle. 

'Contains so much sound moral teaching, and so much homely 
worldly wisdom, that no one can fail to be much profited by reading 
it ; whilst the salt of humour, with which it is plentifully sprinkled, 
makes it one of the most delightful books on Scottish life and char- 
acter we have met with for a very long time. ' — Banffshire Journal. 

' He has written with an air of convincing earnestness, and a desire 
to present a faithful family record. ' — Sydney Mail. 

' Will be read by all, and Scotchmen especially, with pleasure and 
profit.' — New Zealand Herald. 

*A book which all Scotsmen will warm to, and most English 
readers will enjoy : the former because it brings with it the perfume 
of the heather and the reek of the peat-fire ; the latter on account of 
the sketches it presents of a condition of society more primitive and 
picturesque than anything of the kind to be met with of recent times 
in South Britain ; and both because it contains one of the best collec- 
tions of stories of Scottish wit and humour that has appeared since 
the well-known volume of Dean Ramsay. ' — Australasian. 

' As a sketch of Scots life and character, it may be classed with 
the best.' — Presbyterian, Sydney. 

' It would be a mistake to regard " Oor Aiu Folk " as a mere re- 
pertory of stories about pawky Scots, or as a sketch of an aff'ectionate 
home circle. It presents to the reader a glimpse into a sequestered 
patriarchal existence, now much changed by the changes of our head- 
long time. It records many a shrewd observation upon contemporary 
men and manners. And this it does for the most part without 
affectation or parade, with geniality and sometimes with unmistak- 
able tenderness. . . . Those who take up " Oor Ain Folk " will hardly 
leave it down unperused to the very end, and certainly few will be so 
dull as not to heartily enjoy its humour and its tenderness." — Sydney 
Morning Herald. 

'The book is robust, above all things, in manly sentiment, and 
instinct with broad yet tender sympathy, while the fine strain of 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON 'OOR AIN FOLK'— Continued. 

affection which animates the reference to "Oor Ain Folk" in the 
"auld hoose at hame" will awake responsive chords in many who 
are parted from the parental hearth. The book is wholesome and 
bracing, and though written with no apparent purpose beyond the 
telling of the homely life of a minister's house, the reading of the 
simple, kindly record, will exercise an influence greater than many 
books written with a purpose more apparent. . . . Each particular 
phase of character dealt with by Mr. Inglis is illustrated by apt 
anecdote, and of such there is a choice and ample store.' — Sydney 
Daily Telegraph. 



BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

SPORT AND WORK ON THE NEPAUL FRONTIER 

OR 

Twelve Years' Sporting Reminiscences of an Indigo Planter. 

By 'MAORI,' 

AUTHOR OF 'tIRHOOT RHYMES,' ETC. 



MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON, 1878. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

*A graphic and iinvarnislied account of experiences gained during 
twelve years of a planter's life in North Behar. Animated and even 
picturesque.' — Saturday Review. 

' Englishmen will read his book both with pleasure and profit. Has 
the art of communicating information in a very agreeable way — exceed- 
ingly lively and versatile in the mixed contents of his chapters. 
Curious, interesting and most valuable. Has gone on the plan of being 
comprehensive and exhaustive, and has the happy knack of putting 
subjects in fresh and agreeable lights. Describes his sport in animated 
detail, graphically told. The best and most instructive chapters on the 
habits and pursuit of the tiger that we have ever read. The volume 
is well worth reading all through.' — Pall Mall Gazette and Budget. 

' He wields the pen with equal address and success. His description 
of the delights of tiger-shooting in the Koosee jungles and sal forests, of 
hunting trips across the Nepaul frontier, or of a grand burst after a 
"fighting boar," are capitally written — fresh, vigorous, and full of the 
true sportsman's fire. Many of them will hardly be read without a 
sympathetic thrill of excitement. Such a book deserves to be popular. 
It is gossipy without being tedious, and informatory without being dull.' 
— Scotsman. 

' A most enjoyable record. . . . Sport and Work gives evidence of 
being written by a keen sportsman. It abounds with information of 
every imaginable kind ; and at the present time, when matters are so 
unsettled in the East, and public attention is so much directed to that 
quarter, there is no doubt it will be warmly welcomed.' — Illustrated 
Sporting and Dramatic News. 

' We have plenty of books describing the ways and manners of the 
army and of the civil service in India, but we know very little about 
the life of the pushing and thriving gentleman from Europe, who 
occupies India on his own account and brings his British businesslike 
activity to bear upon the astonished indolence of the native whose 
lands he cultivates and whose labour he employs. Here we see a 
specimen of the energetic ruling race carrying into industry and com- 
merce the qualities by which empires are won and sustained, etc. The 
features of native life are most vividly presented in these lively 
pages. ' — London Daily Neivs. 

' Will certainly interest all who take it into their hands. An 
expert with both rifle and pen, his book will well repay perusal by 
those who have a taste for capitally written stories about sport. We 
hope ' Maori ' will soon take ];)en in hand again to give the world a further 
instalment of his manifold experiences as a sportsman.' — Globe. 



OUR AUSTRALIAN COUSINS. 

By ' MAORI ' (The Honourable James Inglis) 

AUTHOR OF 'tIRHOOT RHYMES,' ' SPORT AND WORK ON THE NEPAUL FRONTIER,' ETC. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

' Of the book as a whole it gives us pleasure to speak in terms of warm 
appreciation. The author is demonstrably a diligent and keen observer. 
... It may be read as quickly as a novel ; and, indeed, it is more 
interesting than are many novels. This brings us to what we deem to 
be Mr. Inglis's special gifts, namely, remarkably vivid and racy descrip- 
tive and narrative powers. He has a capital vocabulary, and a bright, 
frank, cheery, racy, graphic style which evidently carried him along 
easily and pleasantly in the writing, and has equally carried us along iu 
the reading.' — Sydney Mail. 

' The book will be found highly interesting, valuable, and entertaining. 
Even the faults do not seem out of place in an account of a young, 
vigorous, and expanding nation, proudly conscious of its abounding 
energy and vitality, and not indisposed to ' ' bounce " regarding its 
wonderful progress and industrial achievements.,' — The Scotsman. 

'Mr. Inglis possesses one singular merit, not often to be found in 
writers upon Australia : he has the courage to expose abuses and to 
denounce their authors, as well as to -praise the climate and to extol the 
riches and capabilities of the country. ... He indulges in warmer 
hopes of its future than most authors, and describes its scenery and 
rural sports in the bright, fresh style which characterised his former 
volume. Sport and Work on the Nepaul Frontier.'' — The Athenceum. 

' It is the characteristic and recommendation of the work that it fulfils 
the promise of the preface. It is naturally and frankly written, with a good 
deal of the ease and unreserve of private correspondence, and its author is 
exceedingly outspoken with respect to the flaws in the political and social 
life and institutions of these communities. ... It is written in a lively 
and entertaining style, and it contains a fund of information respecting 
these colonies, besides offering some valuable suggestions for the introduc- 
tion of novel industries.' — The Argus, Melbourne. 

'Besides describing the legal, commercial, and legislative aspects of 
Australia, Mr. Inglis depicts with a skilful hand some curious adventures 
he met with in the social world. ... In his broad survey of the Colony 
he has not omitted to describe Australian forest and coast scenery, 
together with many of the interesting denizens of plain and river. His 
sketches of his shooting expeditions are vivid, picturesque, and useful 
from a strictly scientific point of view.' — Tlie London Standard. 

' Mr. Inglis has written a very pleasant and a very valuable book, not 
for colonists only, but for those at home who wish to know what our 
colonies are like. . . . The portions of his book that will most please 
the general reader are those devoted to descriptions of the scenery, 
animal life, and sports of the colonies. We have seldom read fresher, 
healthier descriptions. . . . The scraps of natural history, too, are all 
exceedingly interesting, as well as some of the tales about animal 
sagacity. . . . The book is full of matter that will delight the sports- 
man and naturalist, and about which there can be no doubt of any kind.' 
— The Spectator. 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 

DAVID DOUGLAS 



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Edinburgh, July 1894. 



AMERICAN AUTHORS. 




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By JOHN BURROUGHS. 

Winter Sunshine. 

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The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. 

2 vols. 
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An Echo of Passion. 



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A Foregone Conclusion. 

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Their W^edding Journey. 

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In Beaver Cove. 



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EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS. 



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Johnny Gibb of Gushetneuk in the Parish of Pyketillim, 

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Life among" my Ain Folk, by the Author of 'Johnny Gibb 

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EDINBURGH : DAVID DOUGLAS. 






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